FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99   100   101   102   103   104   105   106   107  
108   >>  
But Beverly Ashby was not of the type who required discipline of the order Miss Woodhull believed in. Beverly had lived for more than fifteen years under the discipline of love and good judgement, and had developed fairly well in that atmosphere. Her mother had never reproved or punished her in anger. The Admiral, while adoring her, was "boss of the ship," and both she and Athol had always recognized that fact. His word was law. Moreover, she had always been treated as a reasoning human being _invariably_ trusted; a nice code of honor having been established from the moment the twins could understand the meaning of that fine old word. And that is much earlier in children's lives than a good many grownups believe. No wonder an outraged little mortal now sat at her window, her heart beating tattoo, her temples throbbing, her cheeks blazing, her eyes flashing, but her hands clenched and icy cold. There she sat until all sounds in the big house were hushed. She was as rigid as though carved from marble, even though her breath came and went pantingly. The hand upon the clock in the stable tower crept from hour to hour, the bell telling off the half-hours. She neither saw nor heard. Then came the twelve long deliberate strokes announcing the witching hour. At the first stroke Beverly started into life. By the time the last had sounded the pretty pink dinner gown she had been wearing lay in a tumbled heap upon the bed where she had tossed it. By this time the moon which had been pouring its flood of light into her room was dropping behind the tall trees and the room was growing dark. The steam heat had long since died down and the room was cold. She was entirely unconscious of physical conditions. Silently as a shadow she worked, and with the swiftness of a cloud scudding before a gale of wind. In ten minutes the room was in perfect order and she was garbed in her stout riding-boots, heavy riding skirt, a warm flannel shirt waist and heavy sweater. Her wool skating cap was pulled tight down about her ears, and she carried her riding crop in her gloved hands. Gently raising her window she slipped out upon the piazza roof, crawled upon her hands and knees to the edge, tossed her riding crop to the ground and then, boy-fashion slid down the piazza pillar as easily as Athol could have done it. Picking up the riding crop she sped across the lawn to the stable, well hidden by the foliage. Andrew Jackson Jefferson and his
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   83   84   85   86   87   88   89   90   91   92   93   94   95   96   97   98   99   100   101   102   103   104   105   106   107  
108   >>  



Top keywords:

riding

 

Beverly

 
piazza
 

tossed

 

window

 

stable

 

discipline

 

growing

 

witching

 
wearing

deliberate

 
unconscious
 
physical
 
strokes
 
announcing
 

dropping

 

tumbled

 

conditions

 

sounded

 

pretty


dinner

 

started

 

pouring

 

stroke

 

ground

 

fashion

 

pillar

 

raising

 
Gently
 

slipped


crawled

 

easily

 

foliage

 

Andrew

 
Jackson
 
Jefferson
 

hidden

 
Picking
 
gloved
 

carried


perfect
 
minutes
 

scudding

 

worked

 

shadow

 

swiftness

 

garbed

 

skating

 

pulled

 

sweater