Timothy's story was a common enough little
story--the story of a man without a home. If they'd all listen a
minute he'd tell them all there was to tell.
So, in the midst of a merrymaking, John Roger Churchill Knight
introduced Timothy Williams to Green Valley, introduced him in such a
way as to pave a wide clear path for him into Green Valley hearts. And
so quick was Green Valley's response that before that same merrymaking
was over Green Valley was calling him Timothy and inviting him over for
Sunday dinner.
So then they were all provided for. And here was the house. It was
years since some of them were in it, and to a home-loving,
home-worshipping people it was a treat to go from room to room. In
spite of the changes, the newness everywhere, there was much of the old
home left. Its soul was still the same. The new hangings, the new
wicker furniture, the oriental treasures were all duly inspected,
commented upon and admired.
But it was the old things, the Green Valley things that made the great
appeal. And Green Valley folks rested loving hands every now and then
on some fine old heavy chair that a long-gone Churchill had with his
own hands fashioned from his own walnut trees.
There were pictures to look at, old familiar faces, the faces of men
and women who had been born and raised in this joyous little valley
town; who had gone to the village school and had in their courting days
strolled over the shady old town roads.
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