{"product_id":"2940149392223","title":"In the Heart of the Christmas Pines","description":"Contents\u003cbr\u003e    PAGE\u003cbr\u003eI  The Cottage in the Pines 13\u003cbr\u003eII  \"Lord Chesterfield\" 31\u003cbr\u003eIII  The Invisible Guest 49\u003cbr\u003eIV  Son Robert's Letter 63\u003cbr\u003eV  The Little Hermit 79\u003cbr\u003eVI  From the Shadow of the Pine-boughs 91\u003cbr\u003eVII  \"Lady Ariel\" 103\u003cbr\u003eVIII  The Lady of the Fire-glow 117\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTHROUGH the chill rain of the December twilight a train crept slowly up the valley like a storm-beaten glow-worm, its single Pullman passenger a woman, youthful and yet mature, whose beauty was marred by indefinable shadows in the beautiful gray eyes and hard and bitter lines about the mouth. It had been a long and tiresome journey through a sodden world roofed with a marquee of mist; three days of cloud and rain from her lonely home in Denver to the goal ahead, an unfamiliar village of which her hazy mental picture had been inspired by the imagery of a friend.\u003cbr\u003eA ruined mill with dripping eaves, a grinding shudder of brakes, and the train halted. With quick interest in her eyes, the traveler alighted, but outside on the sodden village platform her interest fled panic-stricken in an overpowering surge of loneliness and dismay. Surely, surely, thought Jean Varian, a bleak enough goal for her odd caprice! Great, wind-beaten trees dripped above the village and the covered bridge; fog-ridden hills towered in the distance like ghostly gables of the valley; and at the head of the street in the old-fashioned hotel to which days before she had whimsically written for rooms, only a single unpromising light flickered dully through the wind and rain.\u003cbr\u003eBut the night was settling rapidly and with a careless direction to the staring baggageman, Jean Varian turned away into the muddy street and made her way to the hotel where a man in boots with a bucket in his hand was stumping heavily away from the pump to the long, low hitching sheds beyond.\u003cbr\u003eIt was essentially rural in its homely comfort, the Westowe House, with brightly colored cornucopias in the parlor carpet and hair-cloth parlor furniture blotched with tidies that tobogganed[16] dizzily to the floor at a touch; but Mrs. Pryce, the proprietor's wife, was stout and ruddy and so frankly and intimately curious that Jean kept to her room for the greater part of the day that followed.\u003cbr\u003eThe rain continued. Outside, the stable-man tramped noisily about among the steaming horses, the pump creaked under frequent duress; Mrs. Pryce was insistently hospitable and insistently curious; and at twilight, appalled by the dreary monotony of it all, Jean restlessly set forth to explore the village. It was already dark when in her careless circuit she approached the railroad. The night train was puffing leisurely past the sheep-pen and a man was tramping toward the post-office with a mail-bag over his shoulder. Ahead with a promise of further monotony and curiosity flickered the lights of the Westowe House. Jean's footsteps lagged.\u003cbr\u003e","brand":"Bronson Tweed Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47079882522864,"sku":"2940149392223","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940149392223_p0.jpg?v=1763716094","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940149392223","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}