Explore "The Little Colonel in Arizona" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
LLOYDSBORO VALLEY would have seemed a strange place to Joyce, could she / have followed her letter back to Kentucky. She had known it only in / midsummer, when the great trees at Locust arched their leafy branches / above the avenue, to make a giant arbour of green. Now these same trees / stood bleak and bare in the February twilight, almost knee-deep in / drifts of snow. Instead of a green lacework of vines, icicles hung / between the tall white pillars of the porch, gleaming like silver where / the light from the front windows streamed out upon them, and lay in / far-reaching paths across the snow.
In the long drawing-room, softly lighted by many candles and the glow of / a great wood fire, the Little Colonel sat on the arm of her father's / chair. He had just driven up from the station, and she held his cold / ears in her warm little hands, giving them a pull now and then to / emphasize what she was saying.