Summary

Portrait of Honoré Willsie Honoré Willsie Lydia of the Pines — XIX. Cap and Gown (1917)

Like a flash Lydia saw again long aisles of pines, smelled again the odor of the needles, heard again the murmuring call of the wind.
"Good God!" cried Amos, tossing his pipe on the table, "poverty's hounded me all my life—poverty and death. The only two people who cared about me, Patience and Levine're gone. Yet here's the chance for me to be independent. Here's a chance for me to make up for the failure I've made of life. A man with a little piece of property like this and a little bank account is somebody in the community.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Honoré Willsie Honoré Willsie Lydia of the Pines — XIX. Cap and Gown (1917)

Lydia sprang to her feet. She was white to her lips. "Don't repeat that remark," she said in a choked voice. "What do you know about the feeling John Levine and I had for each other? He was the one friend of my life."
"Nice way you have of showing it, now he's gone," roared Amos. "Just about the way you show your affection for me. Will nothing satisfy you? Norton and I never squealed when you and Billy got our claims taken away from us. Doesn't it occur to you it's about time you sacrificed something to me!"
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Honoré Willsie Honoré Willsie Lydia of the Pines — XIX. Cap and Gown (1917)

Lydia plodded doggedly through the snow. "Of course, Kent's tending to all that, I refuse to be told the details."
"Lydia!" cried Billy again and there was such a note of pain in his voice that she turned her face to his with the same dogged look in her eyes that had been expressed in her walk.
"Why," he said, "what am I going to do without you to look up to—to live up to? You can't mean it!"
"But I do mean it. I fought and fought and I have for years till I'm sick of it. Now, at least, there'll be no more poverty for Dad to complain of."
Source: Wikisource

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