Eleanor H. Porter The Turn of the Tide: The Story of How Margaret Solved Her Problem internet üzerinden ibook

Margaret had been home two hours—two hours of breathless questions, answers, tears,and laughter—two hours of delighted wandering about the house and grounds.In the nursery she had seen the little woolly dog that lay on the floor just as she had left itfive years before; and out on the veranda steps she had seen the great stone lions that hadnever quite faded from her memory. And always at her side had walked the sweet-facedlady of her dreams, only now the lady was very real, with eyes that smiled on one solovingly, and lips and hands that kissed and caressed one so tenderly.“And this is home—my home?” Margaret asked in unbelieving wonder.“Yes, dear,” answered Mrs. Kendall.“And you are my mother, and I am Margaret Kendall, your little girl?”“Yes.”“And the little dog on the floor—that was mine, and—and it’s been there ever since?”“Yes, ever since you left it there long ago. I—I could not bear to have any one move it, ortouch it.”“And I was lost then—right then?”“No, dear. We traveled about for almost a year. You were five when I lost you.” Mrs.Kendall’s voice shook. Unconsciously she drew Margaret into a closer embrace. Even nowshe was scarcely sure that it was Margaret—this little maid who had stepped so suddenlyout of the great silence that had closed about her four long years before.Margaret laughed softly, and nestled in the encircling arms.“I like it—this,” she confided shyly. “You see, I—I hain’t had it before. Even the dream-ladydidn’t do—this.”“The dream-lady?”Margaret hesitated. Her grave eyes were on her mother’s face.“I suppose she was—you,” she said then slowly. “I saw her nights, mostly; but she neverstayed, and when I tried to catch her, she—she was just air—and wasn’t there at all. And Idid want her so bad!”“Of course you did, sweetheart,” choked Mrs. Kendall, tremulously. “And didn’t she everstay? When was it you saw her—first?”Margaret frowned.“I—don’t—seem—to know,” she answered. She was thinking of what Dr. Spencer had toldher, and of what she herself remembered of those four years of her life. “You see first I waslost, and Bobby McGinnis found me. Anyhow, Dr. Spencer says he did, but I don’t seem toremember. Things was all mixed up. There didn’t seem to be anybody that wanted me, butthere wouldn’t anybody let me go. And they made me sew all the time on things that wasbig and homely, and then another man took me and made me paste up bags. Say, did youever paste bags?”“No, dear.” Mrs. Kendall shivered.“Well, you don’t want to,” volunteered Margaret; and to her thin little face came the lookthat her mother had already seen on it once or twice that afternoon—the look of a childwho knows what it means to fight for life itself in the slums of a great city. “They ain’t amite nice—bags ain’t; and the paste sticks horrid, and smells.”“Margaret, dearest!—how could you bear it?” shuddered Mrs. Kendall, her eyes brimmingwith tears.