Lilja O'Brien - Audiobook
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (General) North American (General) North American (US Mid-Atlantic)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Mrs Rachel Lynde lived just where the a Linley main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and lady's ear drops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old cuff Bird place. It was reputed to be an intricate, headlong Brooke in its earlier course through those woods with dark secrets of Pool and Cascade. But by the time it reached Lin's Hollow, it was a quiet, well conducted little stream for not even if Brooke could run past Mrs Rachel Lin's door without due regard for decency and decorum. It probably was conscious that Mrs Rachel was sitting at her window keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed from Brooks and Children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place, she would never rest until she had fared it out. The wise and wherefores thereof. There are plenty of people in a evenly and out of it who can attend closely to their neighbors, business by Dent of neglecting their own. But Mrs Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage their own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was a notable housewife. Her work was always done and well done. She ran the sewing circle, helped run the Sunday school and was the strongest prop of the church aid society and foreign missions auxiliary. Yet with all this, Mrs Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window, knitting cotton warp quilts. She admitted 16 of them, as evenly housekeepers were want to tell in odd voices and keeping a sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up the steep Redhill beyond, since evenly occupied a little triangular peninsula jutting out into the Gulf of ST Lawrence with water on two sides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that hill road, and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs Rachel's all seeing eye. She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in at the window, warm and bright. The orchard on the slope below the house was in a bridal flush of pinky white bloom hummed over by a myriad of bees. Thomas Lind, a meek little man whom evenly people called Rachel Lynn's husband with sewing his late turnip seed on the Hill Field beyond the barn and Matthew Cuff Bert ought to have been sowing his on the Big Red Brookfield away over Bright Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew that he ought, because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening before in William J. Blair store over at Carmody that he meant to sow his turnip. See, the next afternoon, Peter had asked him, of course, for Matthew Cuff Birds had never been known to volunteer information about anything in his whole life.