To the college students who had just been capped and diplomad by "Old Charlie," the grave president of Queenslea, in the presence of an admiring throng of parents and sisters, sweethearts and friends, it sang, perchance, of glad hope and shining success and high achievement. It was a wind that sang of many things, but what it sang to each listener was only what was in that listener's heart. THE sunshine of a day in early spring, honey pale and honey sweet, was showering over the red brick buildings of Queenslea College and the grounds about them, throwing through the bare, budding maples and elms, delicate, evasive etchings of gold and brown on the paths, and coaxing into life the daffodils that were peering greenly and perkily up under the windows of the co-eds' dressing-room.Ī young April wind, as fresh and sweet as if it had been blowing over the fields of memory instead of through dingy streets, was purring in the tree-tops and whipping the loose tendrils of the ivy network which covered the front of the main building. Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.įor there was no pride nor passion there Īnd her cheek the moss-rose in the shower ĬONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Published by arrangement with The Page Companyīut nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face Īs still was her look, and as still was her ee,Īs the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, "Anne's House of Dreams," "Rainbow Valley," "Rilla of Ingleside," etc. A Celebration of Women Writers Kilmeny of the Orchard.Įach one volume, cloth decorative, illustrated.
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