Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Peace, or the Stolen Will!: An American Novel
The tall, old-fashioned clock in the corner Of the long, low, nicely swept kitchen had long ago told the hour of nine, - the evening wore late to primitive country dwellers, Whose motto was the time-honored early to bed and early to rise, - the logs of the hickory fire had burned low, and lay smouldering on the iron fire-dogs, - the wind whisked down the wide-mouthed chimney and ?ared the candle on the little round table, Whirled tiny clouds of white ashes all over the red brick hearth, or, now and then sent a sudden tongue of red ?ame from out the dying fire-brands, lighting up the Old kitchen, the dressers With their rows of polished pewter ware, the little looking-glass with quaintly carven frame wreathed With evergreen and scarlet wax berries, the Old-fashioned furniture, ears of interwoven' traced corn, and strings of bright red bell-peppers suspended from the beamed ceiling, and then, dying into darkness, grim Shadows quivered over all.
The gray kitten had purred herself to sleep in the warmest corner of the hearth; Bruno, the great watch-dog, a veteran Newfoundlander, lay with his head between his shaggy fore paws: the old clock still ticked on With its steady monotone, while the evening wore later; but yet Aunt Patience Wedge wood sat knitting, knitting, beside the little round table, for she had sat up that night far beyond her usual time to toe Off the last of a pair of yarn socks for Brother Reuben, who dozed in his arm-chair on the Opposite side of the hearth.
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