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And then for a final tantalizing gleam of her little self across the banister, "Last tag." One wall of the Becker back parlor was darkly composed of walnut folding doors dividing it from the front-parlor bachelor apartment of Mr. Hazzard, city salesman for the J.D. Nichols Fancy Grocery Supply Company, his own horse and buggy furnished by the firm. It was Mrs.
Simeon Brown's house was an intermediate apartment between the ineffable glories of the front-parlor and that court of the gentiles, the kitchen; for the presence of a large train of negro servants made the latter apartment an altogether different institution from the throne-room of Mrs. Katy Scudder.
No wages could induce a son or daughter of New England to take the condition of a servant on terms which they thought applicable to that of a slave. The slightest hint of a separate table was resented as an insult; not to enter the front-door, and not to sit in the front-parlor on state-occasions, was bitterly commented on as a personal indignity.
All the family portraits held a conclave in the other front-parlor, and its north and east windows were shut all the year, save on some sultry summer day when Keery flung them open to dispel damp and must, and the school-children stared in reverentially, and wondered why old Madam Hyde's eyes followed them as far as they could see.
A light shone from the front-parlor window. As the cab drew up the door opened and a man came out. Beatrice saw the policeman. "Help!" she cried; "I implore help. This wretch is carrying me away." "What's this?" growled the policeman. At this the man that had come out of the house hurried forward. "Have you found her?" exclaimed a well-known voice. "Oh, my child!
I remember an anecdote of this kind told me by a friend in Western New York. "Waiting," said he, "in the little front-parlor of a house in the town of C , to transact some business with its occupant, I was attracted by a clean sketch in oil that hung above the fireplace.
But in the sanctity of our homes, around our firesides, in the front-parlor, where the melodeon or the newly hired piano has been set up, it is there that Herr Wagner's name will be revered, and his masterpiece repeated o'er and o'er. The libretto is not above criticism; it strikes us that there is not enough of it.
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