Thankful Rest

Thankful Rest

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thankful Rest, by Annie S. Swan
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Title: Thankful Rest
Author: Annie S. Swan
Release Date: July 23, 2004 [EBook #12998]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
THANKFUL REST ***

Produced by Roy Brown

THANKFUL REST.
A Tale.
By ANNIE S. SWAN.
Author of "Aldersyde," "Carlowrie" "Shadowed" &c. &c.

There is no road, though rough and steep, Without an end at last, And
every rock upon the way By patience can be passed.
There are few human hearts too hard For gentleness to win; Somewhere
a hidden chink appears Where love may enter in.

1889

CONTENTS
I. UNWELCOME NEWS. II. THE PARSONAGE. III. THE
ARRIVAL. IV. THE NEW HOME. V. SUNDAY. VI. LOSING HOLD
OF THE BRIDLE. VII. THE RED HOUSE. VIII. UP THE PEAK. IX.
A DAY TO BE REMEMBERED. X. ON THE LAKE. XI. HOPES
FULFILLED. XII. WEARY DAYS. XIII. LUCY FINDS THE KEY.
XIV. A GREAT CHANGE. XV. THE WEDDING. XVI. FIVE
YEARS AFTER.

THANKFUL REST.

I.
UNWELCOME NEWS.
It was the prettiest homestead in all the township, everybody said, and
it had the prettiest name. It stood a mile or so beyond Pendlepoint on
the farther side of the river, from which it was separated by a broad
meadow, where in the summer time the sleek kine stood udder-deep in
cowslips and clover.
It was a long, low, comfortable-looking house, hidden by lovely
creeping plants, and sheltered at the back by the old elm trees in the
paddock, and at the front by the apple trees in the orchard. Perhaps it
was because it had such a snug, cosy, restful look about it that it had
been queerly christened Thankful Rest. The land adjoining the
homestead was rich and fertile, and brought in every year a crop worth
a goodly competence to its possessors. The family at Thankful Rest
consisted of two people--Joshua Strong and his sister Hepzibah. You
are to make their acquaintance immediately, but a remark made once
by old Reuben Waters, their next neighbour, may perhaps give you an
idea of their characters better than any long description of mine:----
"For crankiness and nearness, and unneighbourly sourness, give me
Josh Strong and his sister Hepsy. They can't be equalled, I bet, in all
Connecticut."
You will be able to judge by-and-by of the correctness of Reuben's
estimate. On a lovely August afternoon Miss Hepzibah Strong was
ironing in the kitchen at Thankful Rest. I wish you could have seen that

kitchen; your eyes would have ached with its painful cleanliness. The
stone flags were as cool and clean as water and hands could make them;
the stove shone like burnished silver; the dresser and the table, at which
Miss Hepzibah was at work, were white as snow; and the array of tins
on the wall was perfectly dazzling with brightness. The wide
diamond-paned casement stood open to admit what little air happened
to be abroad that sultry afternoon. How pleasant it was, to be sure, to
look out upon the flower-laden garden; upon the sunny orchard, rich
and golden with its precious harvest; upon the silver thread of the river
winding through the green meadow beyond; and to see and feel all the
loveliness with which God had clothed the world. But Miss Hepzibah
had no eyes for any of the beauties I have mentioned; she was intent
upon her work, and hung on the clothes-horse piece after piece of stiff,
spotless linen, which, as she could boast, could not be equalled in the
township. Miss Hepzibah herself was not a pretty picture. She was a
woman of thirty-five or thereabouts; with a thin, brown, hard-looking
face; sharp, twinkling gray eyes; and a long, grim, resolute mouth. She
wore a short skirt of dark material, a lilac calico jacket, and a huge
white apron. On ordinary occasions her head was adorned by a cap of
fearful workmanship and dimensions, but in the heat of her work she
had thrown it off, and her scanty brown hair was fastened tightly back
in a cue behind.
Just as the old eight-day clock in the lobby solemnly struck four, there
was a loud knock at the back door, and the post-messenger from
Pendlepoint strode into the kitchen, holding in his hand a black-edged
letter.
"Bad news for ye, Miss Hepsy, I doubt," he said. "It'll be from your
sister in Newhaven, I reckon."
Miss Hepzibah took the black-edged letter coolly in her hand, eyed