Perhaps no one in Green Valley was so generously remembered as the
young minister. But though every one of the many gifts that came
pleased him he was strangely unhappy and restless. Invitations as
usual had poured in on him but he had chosen to spend the day with
Grandma Wentworth. And yet, though he was glad to be with her, his
thoughts strayed off to a certain gray day in the fall when he ran down
a hill with a girl's hand in his. He remembered the surge of joy that
had rushed through him when he got her safely into his storm-proof
house and banged shut the door on the stormy world without.
He thought of the hour they spent in silence before the fire that
roared exultantly as the storm tore with angry fingers at the doors and
windows. That, he now felt, was the most perfect hour of his life.
His mind was struggling to understand these memories, these strange new
emotions. He had a queer feeling that something wonderful was waiting
just outside his reach, something was waiting for his recognition.
He was standing in Grandma Wentworth's dining room, looking out the
window at the winter landscape. Grandma was in the kitchen seeing to
the dinner, for she was to have quite a party--Roger and David, Mrs.
Brownlee and Jocelyn, Cynthia's son and his man Timothy.
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