The firebox was not very large but ample.
The hearthstone was a big sheet of smooth gray sandstone. The
sides and top were Henry's collection of brilliant boulders,
carefully and artistically laid in blue mortar, and over the
firebox was set Peter's slab of gray sandstone. On it were four
deeply carved lines. The quaint Old English lettering was filled
even to the surface with a red mortar, while the capitals were
done in dull blue. The girl slowly read:
Voiceless stones, with Flame-tongues Preach Sermons struck
from Nature's Lyre; Notes of Love and Trust and Hope Hourly
sing in Linda's Fire.
In the firebox stood a squat pair of black andirons, showing age
and usage. A rough eucalyptus log waited across them while the
shavings from the placing of the mantel and the cutting of the
windows were tucked beneath it. Linda stood absorbed a minute.
She looked at the skylight, flooding the room with the light she
so needed coming from the right angle. She went over to the new
window that gave her a view of the length of the valley she loved
and a most essential draft. When she turned back to the
fireplace her hands were trembling.
"Now isn't that too lovely of them?" she said softly. "Isn't
that altogether wonderful? How I wish Daddy were here to sit
beside my fire and share with me the work I hope to do here."
In order to come as close to him as possible she did the next
best thing. She sat down at her table and wrote a long letter to
Marian, telling her everything she could think of that would
interest her.
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