Explore "The Little Gray Lady" by Francis Hopkinson Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was Christmas Eve, and Kate Dayton, one of Pomford's pretty girls, had found the Little Gray Lady sitting alone before the fire gazing into the ashes, her small frame almost hidden in the roomy chair. The winter twilight had long since settled and only the flickering blaze of the logs and the dim glow from one lone candle illumined the room. This, strange to say, was placed on a table in a corner where its rays shed but little light in the room.
"Oh! Cousin Annie," moaned Kate (everybody in Pomford who got close enough to touch the Little Gray Lady's hand called her "Cousin Annie" -- it was only the outside world who knew her by her other sobriquet), "I didn't mean anything. Mark came in just at the wrong minute, and -- and -- " The poor girl's tears smothered the rest.