Olive Higgins Prouty

“ Aunt Augusta, the invincible, the unconquerable, had found a way to defeat Reba—to crush her. No use to cry for mercy. Oh, no use to beg for grace. A wave of self-pity swept over Reba. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to get away from this hard cruel woman who was so eager to thwart her happy adventure. Cousin Syringa lived meagerly in a neglected, illy-equipped farm-house on the outskirts of Machias, Maine, but Aunt Augusta, all other devices failing, was ready to endure any personal annoyance or hardship rather than to be ignored by one to whom once her slightest wish had been law. ”

“ She picked up the scarab, and let it lie a moment in her palm, then shook her head over it, and sighed. "My resurrection!" she murmured bitterly. "No use, Cousin Pattie," she whispered, and shrugged her shoulders. "A girl's first duty is to her parents," she thought. "There's no getting around that—unless she's married. And I'm not. I'm not married." She smiled crookedly, then abruptly glanced up, as if she had stumbled upon something that startled her. "I'm not married," she said outloud, and abruptly sat down on the edge of her bed, closing her hand tight over the scarab. ”

“ Reba turned to her aunt. There was a kind of sanctimonious expression about her, the same pious look which Reba had seen there before, especially on Communion Sundays at home after Aunt Augusta had raised her head from silent prayer.
"Well, Aunt Emma and I aren't going to make our home in Ridgefield any more," she announced impressively.
"Where are you going to make it?" gasped Reba.
"We're going to live with Cousin Syringa up in Machias. She's all alone up there with that half-witted boy of hers, and we're going to help her out." ”