At the foot of the hill
nestled the tiny brown farmhouse, half buried in lilacs, climbing roses,
and hollyhocks.
Years ago, when Reuben had first brought Emily to that little brown
cottage, he had said to her, ruefully: "Sweetheart, 'tain't much of a
place, I know, but we'll save and save, every cent we can get, an' by
an' by we'll go up to live in the big house on the hill!" And he kissed
so tenderly the pretty little woman he had married only that morning
that she smiled brightly and declared that the small brown house was the
very nicest place in the world.
But, as time passed, the "big house" came to be the Mecca of all their
hopes, and penny by penny the savings grew. It was slow work, though,
and to hearts less courageous the thing would have seemed an
impossibility. No luxuries--and scarcely the bare necessities of life--
came to the little house under the hill, but every month a tiny sum
found its way into the savings bank. Fortunately, air and sunshine were
cheap, and, if inside the house there was lack of beauty and cheer,
outside there was a riotous wealth of color and bloom--the flowers under
Emily's loving care flourished and multiplied.
The few gowns in the modest trousseau had been turned inside out and
upside down, only to be dyed and turned and twisted all over again.
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