We didn't look at each other after that first glance—that Swede and I. And we said the sunlight hurt our eyes.
Three months later I was sitting under the velvet-soft, star-sown night sky of the Argentine cattle country. I had seen volcano-scarred Martinique and had watched the beautiful island of Barbados rising like a fairy dream out of a foamy sea.
I had marveled at the endless beauties of Rio lying so picturesquely in its immense harbor and at the foot of its great, shaggy, sun-splashed, smoke-wreathed mountains. I had tramped through unsanitary Santos and loved it because it looked like Chicago in spite of its mountains and banana trees. I had witnessed a wonderful fiesta in Buenos Aires and had churned two hundred miles up the La Plata when it was bubbling with rain. And I had had a tooth pulled in Paysandu, the second largest city in Uruguay.
All that in three months! And there were still a million wonders to see. I loved and shall always love these radiant, sun-drenched uncrowded lands. But my heart was heavy as lead. For I was homesick. My eyes were tired of alien starshine, of alien, unfamiliar things, and my heart cried out for the little home towns of my own country.
But I could not go back for many, many months. So I learned Spanish and hobnobbed with wonderfully wise and delightful Spanish grandmothers. I grew to love some darling Indian babies. I interviewed interesting South American cowboys and discussed war and socialism with an Argentine navy officer. I exchanged calls and true blue friendships with soft-voiced Englishwomen. And I took tea and dinner aboard the ships of Welsh sea captains from Cardiff.
I had a wonderful time. I filled my notebook, took pictures and collected souvenirs. I laughed and told stories. Folks down there said I was good company.
But oh! In the hush of a rain-splashed night, when the fire in the grate dozed and dreamed and a boat siren somewhere out on the inky La Plata wailed and moaned through the black night, my heart flew back over those gray-green waves to a little town that I knew in the U. S. A. And to ease my longing I wrote Green Valley.
KATHARINE REYNOLDS.
CONTENTS
| CHAPTER | |
| I | [EAST AND WEST] |
| II | [SPRING IN GREEN VALLEY] |
| III | [THE LAST OF THE CHURCHILLS] |
| IV | [A RAINY DAY] |
| V | [CYNTHIA'S SON] |
| VI | [GOSSIP] |
| VII | [THE WEDDING] |
| VIII | [LILAC TIME] |
| IX | [GREEN VALLEY MEN] |
| X | [THE KNOLL] |
| XI | [GETTING ACQUAINTED] |
| XII | [THE PATH OF TRUE LOVE] |
| XIII | [AUTUMN IN GREEN VALLEY] |
| XIV | [THE CHARM] |
| XV | [INDIAN SUMMER] |
| XVI | [THE HOUSEWARMING] |
| XVII | [THE LITTLE SLIPPER] |
| XVIII | [THE MORNING AFTER] |
| XIX | [A GRAY DAY] |
| XX | [CHRISTMAS BELLS] |
| XXI | [FANNY'S HOUR] |
| XXII | [BEFORE THE DAWN] |
| XXIII | [FANNY COMES BACK] |
| XXIV | [HOME AGAIN] |