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 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BENT 
TWIG *** 
 
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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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