The Bent Twig

Dorothy Canfield
The Bent Twig, by Dorothy
Canfield

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Title: The Bent Twig
Author: Dorothy Canfield
Release Date: February 22, 2004 [EBook #11221]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE BENT TWIG
BY

DOROTHY CANFIELD
1915

CONTENTS
BOOK I IN ARCADIA
CHAPTER
I
SYLVIA'S HOME II THE MARSHALLS' FRIENDS III BROTHER
AND SISTER IV EVERY ONE'S OPINION OF EVERY ONE ELSE
V SOMETHING ABOUT HUSBANDS VI THE SIGHTS OF LA
CHANCE VII "WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE
SELF-EVIDENT ..." VIII SABOTAGE IX THE END OF
CHILDHOOD
BOOK II A FALSE START TO ATHENS
X SYLVIA'S FIRST GLIMPSE OF MODERN CIVILIZATION XI
ARNOLD'S FUTURE Is CASUALLY DECIDED XII ONE MAN'S
MEAT XIII AN INSTRUMENT IN TUNE XIV HIGHER
EDUCATION XV MRS. DRAPER BLOWS THE COALS XVI
PLAYING WITH MATCHES XVII MRS. MARSHALL STICKS TO
HER PRINCIPLES XVIII SYLVIA SKATES MERRILY ON THIN
ICE XIX AS A BIRD OUT OF A SNARE XX "BLOW, WIND;
SWELL, BILLOW; AND SWIM, BARK!" XXI SOME YEARS
DURING WHICH NOTHING HAPPENS
BOOK III IN CAPUA AT LAST
XXII A GRATEFUL CARTHAGINIAN XXIII MORE TALK
BETWEEN YOUNG MODERNS XXIV ANOTHER BRAND OF
MODERN TALK XXV NOTHING IN THE LEAST MODERN XXVI
MOLLY IN HER ELEMENT XXVII BETWEEN WINDWARD AND

HEMLOCK MOUNTAINS XXVIII SYLVIA ASKS HERSELF
"WHY NOT?" XXIX A HYPOTHETICAL LIVELIHOOD XXX
ARNOLD CONTINUES TO DODGE THE RENAISSANCE XXXI
SYLVIA MEETS WITH PITY XXXII MUCH ADO XXXIII "WHOM
GOD HATH JOINED..." XXXIV SYLVIA TELLS THE TRUTH
XXXV "A MILESTONE PASSED, THE ROAD SEEMS CLEAR"
XXXVI THE ROAD IS NOT SO CLEAR XXXVII "... His wife and
children perceiving it, began to cry after him to return; but the man put
his fingers in his ears and ran on, crying, 'Life! Life Eternal!'"
XXXVIII SYLVIA COMES TO THE WICKET GATE XXXIX
SYLVIA DRIFTS WITH THE MAJORITY
BOOK IV THE STRAIT PATH
XL A CALL FROM HOME XLI HOME AGAIN XLII "Strange that
we creatures of the petty ways, Poor prisoners behind these fleshly bars,
Can sometimes think us thoughts with God ablaze, Touching the fringes
of the outer stars" XLIII "Call now; is there any that will answer
thee?" XLIV "A bruised reed will He not break, and a dimly burning
wick will He not quench" XLV "That our soul may swim We sink our
heart down, bubbling, under wave" XLVI A LONG TALK WITH
ARNOLD XLVII "...AND ALL THE TRUMPETS SOUNDED!"

THE BENT TWIG

BOOK I
IN ARCADIA
CHAPTER I
SYLVIA'S HOME
Like most happy childhoods, Sylvia's early years lay back of her in a
long, cheerful procession of featureless days, the outlines of which

were blurred into one shimmering glow by the very radiance of their
sunshine. Here and there she remembered patches, sensations, pictures,
scents: Mother holding baby sister up for her to kiss, and the fragrance
of the baby powder--the pine-trees near the house chanting loudly in an
autumn wind--her father's alert face, intent on the toy water-wheel he
was setting for her in the little creek in their field--the beautiful sheen
of the pink silk dress Aunt Victoria had sent her--the look of her
mother's steady, grave eyes when she was so sick--the leathery smell of
the books in the University Library one day when she followed her
father there--the sound of the rain pattering on the low, slanting roof of
her bedroom--these were the occasional clearly outlined, bright-colored
illuminations wrought on the burnished gold of her sunny little life. But
from her seventh birthday her memories began to have perspective,
continuity. She remembered an occasional whole scene, a whole
afternoon, just as it happened.
The first of these must have marked the passing of some unrecognized
mental milestone, for there was nothing about it to set it apart from any
one of a hundred afternoons. It may have been the first time she looked
at what was about her, and saw it.
Mother was putting the baby to bed for his nap--not the
baby-sister--she was a big girl of five by this time, but another baby, a
little year-old brother, with blue eyes and yellow hair, instead of brown
eyes and hair like his two sisters'. And when Mother stooped over the
little bed, her white fichu fell forward and Sylvia leaned to hold it back
from the baby's face, a bit of thoughtfulness which had a rich reward in
a smile of
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