Myrtle Reed

The Masters Violin Myrtle Reed

Book Excerpt: iving no encouragement from East Lancaster, had laid its tracks elsewhere. It was still spoken of as "the time when, if you will remember, my dear, they endeavoured to ruin our property with dirt and noise.""Her clothes are like her name," remarked Lynn."Whose clothes?" asked Mrs. Irving, taken out of her reverie."That girl's. She had on a green dress, and some yellow velvet in her hair. Her eyes are purple.""Violet, you mean, dear. Did you notice that?""Of course--don't I notice everything? Come, mother; I'll race you to the top of the hill."Once again her objections were of no avail. Together they ran, laughing, up the winding road that led to the summit, stopping very soon, however, and going on at a more moderate pace. The street was narrow, and the houses on either side were close together. Each had its tiny patch of ground in front, laid out in flower-beds bordered with whitewashed stones, in true German fashion. There were no street lamps, for WestRead More