"
"Isn't that strange?"
"Yes, but I'm glad she doesn't. I want her to forget. She's very happy
with us--but she's far from perfect." "To what form of cussedness does
she tend, Lyn? With me she's as lamblike as can be."
"Oh! she has a fiery temper and, now that I think of it, she generally
shows it in reference to you."
"To me?" Truedale smiled.
"Yes. Thomas found her blacking your shoes the other day. She was making
an awful mess of it and he tried to take them from her. She gave him a
real vicious whack with the brush. What she said was actually comical:
'He's mine; if I want to take the dirt from his shoes, I can. He
_shan't_ walk on dirt--and he's mine!'"
"The little rascal. And what did Thomas do?"
"Oh! he let her. People always let her. I do myself."
"She's a fascinating kid," Truedale said with a laugh. Then, very
earnestly: "I'm rather glad we do not know her antecedents, Lyn; it's
safer to take her as we find her and build on that. But I'd be willing
to risk a good deal that much love and goodness are back of little Ann,
no matter how much else got twisted in. And the love and goodness must
be her passport through life."
"Yes, Con, and they are all that are worth while."
But every change was a period of struggle to Ann and those who dealt
with her. She had a passionate power of attachment to places and people,
and readjustment caused her pain and unrest.
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