Lydia of the Pines

Lydia of the Pines

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lydia of the Pines, by Honoré Willsie
Morrow
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Title: Lydia of the Pines
Author: Honoré Willsie Morrow

Release Date: October 4, 2005 [eBook #16803]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYDIA OF
THE PINES***
E-text prepared by Al Haines

LYDIA OF THE PINES
by

HONORÉ WILLSIE
Author of
"The Heart of the Desert," "Still Jim," etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors by Eric Papse
[Transcriber's note: frontispiece missing from book.]
A. L. Burt Company Publishers------New York Published by
arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company
1917

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
THE TOY BALLOON II THE HEROIC DAY III THE COTTAGE IV
THE RAVISHED NEST V ADAM VI THE COOKING CLASS VII
THE REPUBLICAN CANDIDATE VIII THE NOTE IX THE
ELECTION X THE CAMP XI LYDIA GIGGLES XII THE HIGH
SCHOOL SENIOR XIII THE INDIAN CELEBRATION XIV THE
HARVARD INSTRUCTOR XV THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS
XVI DUCIT AMOR PATRIAE XVII THE MILITARY HOP XVIII
THE END OF A GREAT SEARCH XIX CAP AND GOWN XX THE
YOUNGEST SCHOLAR

LYDIA OF THE PINES
CHAPTER I

THE TOY BALLOON
"I am the last of my kind. This is the very peak of loneliness."--The
Murmuring Pine.
There is a State in the North Mississippi Valley unexcelled for its quiet
beauty. To the casual traveler there may be a certain monotony in the
unending miles of rolling green hills, stretching on and on into distant,
pale skies. But the native of the State knows that the monotony is only
seeming.
He knows that the green hills shelter in their gentle valleys many placid
lakes. Some of them are shallow and bordered with wild rice. Some are
couched deep in the hollow of curving bluffs. Some are carefully
secreted in virgin pine woods. From the train these pines are little
suspected. Fire and the ax have long since destroyed any trace of their
growth along the railway.
Yet if the traveler but knew, those distant purple shadows against the
sky-line are primeval pine woods, strange to find in a State so highly
cultivated, so dotted with thriving towns.
In summer the whole great State is a wonderland of color. Wide wheat
lands of a delicate yellowish green sweep mile on mile till brought to
pause by the black green of the woods. Mighty acres of corn land,
blue-green, march on the heels of the wheat. Great pastures riotous with
early goldenrod are thick dotted with milk herds. White farmhouses
with red barns and little towns with gray roofs and green shaded streets
dot the State like flower beds.
An old State, as we measure things out of New England, settled by
New Englanders during the first great emigration after the War of 1812.
Its capital, Lake City, lays claim to almost a century of existence.
Lying among the hills in the northern part of the State, it contains both
the state capitol and the state university. Of its thirty thousand
inhabitants, five thousand are students and another five thousand are
state legislators and state employees.

The town is one of quiet loveliness. It lies in the curving shore of one
of the most beautiful of the little inland lakes. The university campus
lies at the northern end of the curve. The dome of the capitol rises from
the trees at the southern end. Between, deep lawns stretch to the water's
edge with fine old houses capping the gentle slope of the shore. Inland
lies the business section of the town, with the less pretentious of the
dwellings. The whole city is dotted with great elms and maples, planted
three quarters of a century ago.
A quiet town, Lake City, with an atmosphere that might well belong to
New England,--beauty, culture, leisure, are its hallmarks.
Fifteen years ago half a mile inland from the lake was an empty block
that once had been a farm pasture. Three fine old oaks stood with tops
together in the center of the block. The grass was still firm and green
and thick in the ancient pasture except for narrow trails worn by
children's feet. To the initiated each trail told its own story. There was a
hollow square that formed the baseball diamond. There was a straight,
short cut that led to the little cress-grown spring. There were the
parallel lines for "Come-Come Pull Away," and there were numerous
bald spots, the center of little radiating trails where, in the fall, each
group of children had its complicated roasting oven in which potatoes