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She was downstairs, sitting under a lamp, reading one of the books of Robert Louis Stevenson. For a long time Hugh could hear the voices of his children on the floor above. Then the thing happened. Mary Cochran came down the stairway that led past the door of his room. She stopped, turned back and climbed the stairs again to the room above. Hugh arose and stepped into the hallway.
"Well?" demanded Griswold; his tone was hoarse and heavy with meaning. "Well what?" asked Aline pleasantly. "How," demanded Griswold, "do you like Charles Cochran for an architect?" "How should I know?" asked Aline. "I've not met him yet!" She had said it! And she had said it without the waver of one of her lovely eyelashes. No wonder the public already hailed her as a finished actress!
Now I'll give you time to apologize for that, and then I'll order you out of this house! And if Miss Proctor is the sort of girl I think she is, she'll order you out of it, too!" Both men swung toward Miss Proctor. Her eyes were now smiling excitedly. She first turned them upon Charles, blushing most becomingly. "Miss Proctor," she said, "hopes she is the sort of girl Mr. Cochran thinks she is."
"What am I so eager about?" he asked himself. A new life began in Hugh Walker's house. It was good for the man to have some one there who did not belong to him, and Winifred Walker and the children accepted the presence of the girl. Winifred urged her to come again. She did come several times a week. To Mary Cochran it was comforting to be in the presence of a family of children.
As though it were an afterthought, Griswold halted at the door and said: "I believe you are already acquainted with Miss Proctor." Cochran, conscious of five years of devotion, found that he was blushing, and longed to strangle himself. Nor was the blush lost upon Griswold. "I'm sorry," said Cochran, "but I've not had that honor. On the stage, of course "
Our friends of the Eighth, Massachusetts are quartered under the dome, and cheer us whenever we pass. Desks marked John Covode, John Cochran, and Anson Burlingame, have allowed me to use them as I wrote. "Old Hundred." O Lord of Hosts! Almighty King! Behold the sacrifice we bring! To every arm Thy strength impart, Thy spirit shed through every heart!
Holladay to visit their native land in the spring of this year, and they were not able to resume their connection with the mission. The Rev. Joseph G. Cochran and wife, and Miss Mary Susan Rice, embarked for Oroomiah in June, 1847. The cholera, in its progress from the east, reached the plain of Oroomiah in the autumn of 1846, and about two thousand persons died in the city.
"His name," he said in fateful tones, "is Charles Cochran!" It was supposed to be a body blow; but, to his distress, Aline neither started nor turned pale. Neither, for trying to trick her, did she turn upon him in reproof and anger. Instead, with alert eyes, she continued to peer out of the window at the electric-light advertisements and her beloved Broadway.
"And I told him I'd never been to Bar Harbor that I'd never met Aline Proctor!" Cochran seized his coat and hat. He shouted to one of the office boys to telephone the garage for his car. "What are you where are you going?" demanded Post. "I'm going home first," cried Cochran, "to put those pictures in a safe, as I should have done three months ago.
Crowther, who made the All-American that year, shouted: "You all lose. I'll take it myself," and over the line he went with the ball tucked away under his arm. "Johnny Poe was behind the door when fear went by," says Garry Cochran. "Every one knows of his wonderful courage. The men were desperate and near the breaking point.
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