Molly Make-Believe

Eleanor Hallowell Abbott

Capitolo 12

     Boy, when you seem to the amusing one, indistinct colors it was not able her
     only please it pretends that the aroma of green is the taste
     of pleasant pastures, and that the line of red is the
     Cardinal flower that has burnt along the edge of the noisy one
     brook?

     "Thin Goodby to to-tomorrow,

     "MOLLY."

With a face so together it crowded with amazement that there was anybody
room went away in him for the pain, the lame fingers of Stanton arrived out
curiously and he/she caressed the warm one woolly cloth.

"Beautiful old Lamb--y" to which he has judicially given credit.

Then suddenly around the angles of his/her under smiled lip a few adverse
started to sparkle.

"I will clearly save the letter for Cornelia", he protested, "but no
one could really wait that I glue such delicious cover-wrap
in a discard-book."

Laboriously twisting himself/herself/itself his/her thinness and his/her coldness in the black
the luxuriant fleece, irresponsible of sheep, a side-pocket that bends in the
wrap hurt its hip. Reaching the a lot of temperishly to the pocket
he drew before a small lace-pruned handkerchief stumpily knotted through
a handful that fills of needles of fir-balm. As a hot warm August
you blow the magic, wooded fragrance curled through its nostrils.

"These people certainly know whether to play the game every right", him
it capriciously reasoned, while also noticing the small constant letter "M"
embroidered in an angle of the handkerchief.

Then, because he was really very ill and really very tired, him
is down crouched in the blessed and new heat and it turned his/her lean cheek
to the pillow and it shaped to cup his/her hand for sleep as a drowsy child with
its nose and mouth dug down eagerly in the anxious draught.
But the cup didn't fill.--Still smelled deep in his curved, empty,
balm-perfumed fingers waited for--somehow--in some place--the sediments of a
marvelous dream:  The childhood, with the warm sweet pulsation of woods in summer,
and the heat that abandons of the soft one, earth of sunbaked and the crackle
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