Myra of the Pines (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1902. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER III THE room upon whose threshold Myra paused for an observant moment was of the same dimensions as the house, which, though contracted for a house, were generous for a room. About the four walls logs and intervening plaster alternated in horizontal bands of brown and white; small windows let in cool green forest light above muslin curtains. An open stairway occupied one end, and two other doors led respectively to kitchen and workshop in the lean-to wing. Through the prevailing wholesome atmosphere of pine about the place there rose an under-smell of paint--blue paint. Everything paintable in sight had been painted blue, cerulean blue; the wooden chairs, the tufted chairs, the massive sofa, whose design and hair-cloth covering suggested nothing but veneer; the hanging chalet clock, which had no hands; even a cooking-stove with a pipe. On this a lamp appeared about to boil, the family Bible farther back, to simmer gently. In the room sat Myra's mother and the two young men, Mr. Christensen in the hair-cloth seat of honour, Mr. Ramsey upon a trunk--blue also-- and the lady on some article of furniture concealed beneath her skirts, which might Lave been an ottoman, but was, in fact, a nail-keg. The household chairs were, for the most part, recovering slowly from an overdose of paint. At sight of the daughter of the house Mr. Ramsey looked up with momentary apprehension, and Mr. Christensen, being less at home, rose to his feet. "Will you not have this seat? " he asked. "Oh, thank you," Myra answered, as she passed him. "I will take the other corner. This sofa is the only really safe place in the house." "It takes a little while to get to rights," remarked the agent, in his role of family friend. The conversation, which had sounded so attractive through the...