Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Painted Windows
Painted Windows
Painted Windows
Ebook61 pages58 minutes

Painted Windows

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Elia WilkinsonPeattie was an American author, journalist and critic.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherKrill Press
Release dateFeb 23, 2016
ISBN9781531225681
Painted Windows

Read more from Elia Wilkinson Peattie

Related to Painted Windows

Related ebooks

Classics For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Painted Windows

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Painted Windows - Elia Wilkinson Peattie

    PAINTED WINDOWS

    ..................

    Elia Wilkinson Peattie

    YURITA PRESS

    Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

    This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2016 by Elia Wilkinson Peattie

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    I. NIGHT

    II. SOLITUDE

    III. FRIENDSHIP

    IV. FAME

    V. REMORSE

    VI. TRAVEL: IT was time to say good-bye.

    Painted Windows

    By

    Elia Wilkinson Peattie

    Painted Windows

    Published by Yurita Press

    New York City, NY

    First published circa 1935

    Copyright © Yurita Press, 2015

    All rights reserved

    Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

    About YURITA Press

    Yurita Press is a boutique publishing company run by people who are passionate about history’s greatest works. We strive to republish the best books ever written across every conceivable genre and making them easily and cheaply available to readers across the world.

    I. NIGHT

    ..................

    YOUNG PEOPLE BELIEVE VERY LITTLE that they hear about the compensations of growing old, and of living over again in memory the events of the past. Yet there really are these compensations and pleasures, and although they are not so vivid and breathless as the pleasures of youth, they have something delicate and fine about them that must be experienced to be appreciated.

    Few of us would exchange our memories for those of others. They have become a part of our personality, and we could not part with them without losing something of ourselves. Neither would we part with our own particular childhood, which, however difficult it may have been at times, seems to each of us more significant than the childhood of any one else. I can run over in my mind certain incidents of my childhood as if they were chapters in a much-loved book, and when I am wakeful at night, or bored by a long journey, or waiting for some one in the railway-station, I take them out and go over them again.

    Nor is my book of memories without its illustrations. I can see little villages, and a great city, and forests and planted fields, and familiar faces; and all have this advantage: they are not fixed and without motion, like the pictures in the ordinary book. People are walking up the streets of the village, the trees are tossing, the tall wheat and corn in the fields salute me. I can smell the odour of the gathered hay, and the faces in my dream-book smile at me.

    Of all of these memories I like best the one in the pine forest.

    I was at that age when children think of their parents as being all-powerful. I could hardly have imagined any circumstances, however adverse, that my father could not have met with his strength and wisdom and skill. All children have such a period of hero-worship, I suppose, when their father stands out from the rest of the world as the best and most powerful man living. So, feeling as I did, I was made happier than I can say when my father decided, because I was looking pale and had a poor appetite, to take me out of school for a while, and carry me with him on a driving trip. We lived in Michigan, where there were, in the days of which I am writing, not many railroads; and when my father, who was attorney for a number of wholesale mercantile firms in Detroit, used to go about the country collecting money due, adjusting claims, and so on, he had no choice but to drive.

    And over what roads! Now it was a strip of corduroy, now a piece of well-graded elevation with clay subsoil and gravel surface, now a neglected stretch full of dangerous holes; and worst of all, running through the great forests, long pieces of road from which the stumps had been only partly extracted, and where the sunlight barely penetrated. Here the soaked earth became little less than a quagmire.

    But father was too well used to hard journeys to fear them, and I felt that, in going with

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1