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Father Gray said, "Never mind, my dears, I will find you a nice, new home," and away he went. Bye and bye he returned and told them with joy that he had found a splendid place for them to live. It was just inside the door of a big apartment building. Father Gray and Mother Gray gathered together all the pieces of their nest and carried them in their mouths.
"I think it's a nice room," said Hester; "only, of course, we are not accustomed to it, and that great fire is so chokingly hot. May we open all the windows?" "Certainly, dears, provided you don't catch cold." "Catch cold!" said Sylvia in a voice of scorn. "If you had ever lived on a Scotch moor you wouldn't talk of catching cold in a stuffy little hole of a place like this."
"No, I am sure it can't be right, Mrs. Gardner," said Elsie, "but we were so interested when we heard about these 'Jerkers' that we wished to see them before we went home." "Then you do not belong on the Island. Where is your home, my dears?" she asked, as she stepped briskly about preparing the tea. "We are from Halifax," Dexie answered. "And is it possible that you are the daughter of Mr.
Imagine being condemned to pass this window a dozen times in the day, on the way to that dreary chapel of theirs. A refinement of torture with which the window downstairs simply can't compete. How they must have hated the smell of the sea, poor dears! But I daresay they didn't open their windows very often. It wasn't the fashion in those days."
I wont sleep in the garret or in the cellar." "That'll be a good deal as Mrs. Morris says, when she comes," calmly responded his mother. "As Miranda says!" said Dab, with a long breath. "Miranda?" gasped Samantha and her sisters. "Yes, my dears, certainly," said their mother. "This is Mrs. Morris's house, or her husband's, not mine. All the arrangements I have made are only temporary.
'One glass of wine one morsel of this homely cake? cried Mr Pecksniff, venturing to detain him. 'My dears ! The sisters flew to wait upon him. 'Poor girls! said Mr Pecksniff. 'You will excuse their agitation, my dear sir. They are made up of feeling. A bad commodity to go through the world with, Mr Chuzzlewit! My youngest daughter is almost as much of a woman as my eldest, is she not, sir?
And so the horse was sent to the stables of the White Horse Cellar, in Piccadilly, and left there at my order. Day after day I went to Arlington Street, each time to be turned away with the same answer: that Miss Manners was a shade better, but still confined to her bed. You will scarce believe me, my dears, when I say that Mr. Marmaduke had gone at this crisis with his Grace to the York races.
And was it to oblige you that Margaret carried a basket all through Deerbrook on Wednesday, with the small end of a carrot peeping out from under the lid? Fie, my dears! I must say fie! It grieves me to find fault with you: but really this is folly. It is really neglecting appearances too far." Mr Hope did not return in time to see Mrs Grey.
"That is M. Pons' doing; he taught him those disgusting tricks. . . . But you shall pay for this, my dears," she thought as she went down stairs. "Pooh! if that tight-rope dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall say that it is a farce. She seated herself by Cibot's pillow. Cibot complained of a burning sensation in the stomach.
"Well, I thank you for all your kindness, my dears," she said, "all your kindness. I may as well go to them now; they've been waiting for me a long time. Good Lord!" she exclaimed, lifting up her eyes, "Good Lord! what a meeting it will be!" Then she sank down into her chair again, and in a moment was gone. "As our hope is that this our sister doth." Burial Service.
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