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In one of the chalky combes just below the hill is an old Quaker burial ground, as remote and lonely as the more famous Jordans ground was before the American visitor began to make that a place of pilgrimage. Donhead St. Andrew, a mile from St. Mary's, is in an entirely different situation to the latter, the Perpendicular church being at the bottom of a deep hollow.

"Buck ought to send some of th' Panhandle boys up there," suggested Red. "There's Pie Willis an' th' Jordans they knows th' Panhandle like yu knows poker." Frenchy had paid no apparent attention to the conversation up to this point, but now he declared himself. "Yu heard what Buck said, didn't yu?" He asked.

Indignant at the rudeness of his conduct, Daniel stepped between Jason Philip and his daughter. But the venomous scorn in the girl’s eyes stifled his sympathy; he turned to the door, and went away in silence. “All that nice money,” murmured Theresa. When Daniel told the Jordans that the money would be there the next morning, Jordan looked at him first unbelievingly, and then wept like a child.

This especially attracted our attention, since the story had been pathetically told by the speaker at the Sunday afternoon meeting which we attended at Jordans and which I refer to in the following chapter. While there is a certain feeling of melancholy that possesses one when he wanders through these mouldering ruins, yet he often can not help thinking that they deserved their fate.

Mark the quantity of water "rivers." Not a Jordan merely, that would be wonderful enough, but Jordans a Jordan, and a Nile, and a Euphrates, a Yang Tse Kiang, and an Olga and a Rhine, a Seine and a Thames, and a Hudson and an Ohio "rivers." Notice, too, the kind of water. Like this racing, turbulent, muddy Jordan? No, no! "rivers of living water," "water of life, clear as crystal."

For a moment she paused, and then added softly, "It was all so different, they say, when the Jordans were living." Again the phrase which had begun to irritate him! Who were these dead and gone Jordans whose beneficent memory still inhabited the house they had built? "I don't think my mother would care for such stories," he replied after a minute. "She has never mentioned them in her letters."

"Do you want to earn money for the Jordans, Bobby?" "Yes, sir," replied Bobby sturdily. "If you'd lend me the snow shovel, Daddy, Palmer Davis and I figured out we could earn a lot shoveling walks." "Oh, no, Daddy," interposed Mother Blossom from the piano where she was helping Meg with her music lesson and yet listening to the conversation between Bobby and his father.

The entrance to the cottage fronts on the garden. There is no door next the street, the great chimney built on the outside leaving no room for one. We were now in the vicinity where William Penn was born and where he lies buried. We had some trouble in finding Jordans, the little meeting-house near which is the grave of the Quaker philanthropist.

It would not have been so hard for Frank if he had had any close chum to whom he could have confided his troubles. But Miss Brown had spoiled all that. She kept the garden like a parlor, and scared away what few acquaintances Frank had with her severe looks and manner. The Jordans had lived at Tipton for only a year.

Parents and other very near relatives are sometimes gratified with these productions, and cause them to be framed and hung up, as in the present instance. "I guess we won't go down jest yet," said Mrs. Crane, "as folks don't seem to have come." So she began a systematic inspection of the dressing-room and its conveniences. "Mahogany four-poster, come from the Jordans', I cal'late.