Andrew the Glad

Andrew the Glad

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Andrew the Glad, by Maria
Thompson Daviess This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no
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Title: Andrew the Glad
Author: Maria Thompson Daviess
Release Date: October 9, 2004 [EBook #13679]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANDREW
THE GLAD ***

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Andrew the Glad
By MARIA THOMPSON DAVIESS
Author of Miss Selina Lue, Rose of Old Harpeth The Melting of Molly,
etc.

1913

TO LIBBIE LUTTRELL MORROW

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
THE HEART TRAP
II THE RITUAL
III TWO LITTLE CRIMES
IV ACCORDING TO SOLOMON
V DAVID'S ROSE AND SOME THORNS
VI THE BRIDGE OF DREAMS
VII STRANGE WILD THINGS
VIII THE SPELL AND ITS WEAVING
IX PURSUING THE POSSUM
X LOVE'S HOME AND ANDREW SEVIER
XI ACROSS THE MANY WATERS

ANDREW THE GLAD
CHAPTER I

THE HEART TRAP
"There are some women who will brew mystery from the decoction of
even a very simple life. Matilda is one of them," remarked the major to
himself as he filled his pipe and settled himself before his high-piled,
violet-flamed logs. "It was waxing strong in her this morning and an
excitement will arrive shortly. Now I wonder--"
"Howdy, Major," came in a mockingly lugubrious voice from the hall,
and David Kildare blew into the room. He looked disappointedly
around, dropped into a chair and lowered his voice another note.
"Seen Phoebe?" he demanded.
"No, haven't you?" answered the major as he lighted his pipe and
regarded the man opposite him with a large smile of welcome.
"Not for three days, hand-running. She's been over to see Andy with
Mrs. Matilda twice, and I've missed her both times. Now, how's that for
luck?"
"Well," said the major reflectively, "in the terms of modern parlance,
you certainly are up against it. And did it ever occur to you that a man
with three ribs broken and a dislocated collar-bone, who has written a
play and a sprinkle of poems, is likely to interest Phoebe Donelson
enormously? There is nothing like poetry to implant a divine passion,
and Andrew is undoubtedly of poetic stamp."
"Oh, poetry--hang! It's more Andy's three ribs than anything else. He
just looks pale and smiles at all of 'em. He always did have yellow dog
eyes, the sad kind. I'd like to smash all two dozen of his ribs," and
Kildare slashed at his own sturdy legs with his crop. He had dropped in
with his usual morning's tale of woe to confide to Major Buchanan, and
he had found him, as always, ready to hand out an incendiary brand of
sympathy.
"He ought not to have more than twenty-three; one on the right side
should be missing. Some woman's got it--maybe Phoebe," said the

major with deadly intent.
"Nothing of the kind. I'm shy a rib myself and Phoebe is it. Don't I get a
pain in my side every time I see her? It's the real psychic thing, only
she doesn't seem to get hold of her end of the wire like she might."
"Don't trust her, David, don't trust her! You see his being injured in
Panama, building bridges for his country, while you sat here idly
reading the newspapers about it, has had its appeal. I know it's
dangerous, but you ought to want Phoebe to soothe his fevered brow.
Nothing is too good for a hero this side of Mason and Dixon's, my
son." The major eyed his victim with calculating coolness, gaging just
how much more of the baiting he would stand. He was disappointed to
see that the train of explosives he had laid failed to take fire.
"Well, he's being handed out a choice bunch of Mason-Dixon attentions.
They are giving him the cheer-up all day long. When I left, Mrs. Shelby
was up there talking to him, and Mrs. Cherry Lawrence and Tom had
just come in. Mrs. Cherry had brought him several fresh eggs. She had
got them from Phoebe! I sent them to her from the farm this morning.
Rode out and coaxed the hens for them myself. Now, isn't a brainstorm
up to me?"
"Well, I don't know," answered the major in a judicial tone of voice.
"You wouldn't have them neglect him, would you?"
"Well, what about me?" demanded David dolefully. "I haven't any
green eyes, 'cause I'm trusting Andy, not Phoebe; but neglect is just
withering my leaves. I haven't seen her alone for two weeks. She is
always over there