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"Olive Beauchamp," Andrew repeated, with a strange lingering over the two words, which he pronounced in a very curious voice that trembled, as if with some keen emotion, love or hate. "Yes; I named her as you say." "Then, as the man in the play remarks, 'Where do I come in?" Henley asked, half laughing, half vexed.

Among the first to rally to this call, one rifleman in particular, a fine, broad-shouldered active fellow, with a brown moustache and olive complexion, darts forward to the point indicated. It is Claudet.

The only difference between swells and other people is you have to watch 'em closer. Don't you think that red silk lining is just a little bit too bright for that coat, Lou?" Lou looked at the plain, dull olive jacket of her friend. "Well, no I don't but it may seem so beside that faded-looking thing you've got on."

She is as good and nice as she can be, but we can not move her." "You ought not to try," said Mrs. Easterfield; "it would be a shame for her to go away and leave her uncle. You have one young lady, and you should not ask for both. Olive must marry, and the captain must go and live with her." "Have you arranged all that?" said he. "I remember you were a great schemer when quite a little girl."

Faulkner," said the captain, "I can do nothing at all myself, and there is no way to make use of the law; that would be horrible for Olive, and it could not be done; and so I have come to ask help of you. I don't see that any other man could do more than I could do." Mrs. Faulkner sat silent for a few minutes. "I am so glad you came to me," she said presently.

Her mother drew the child's head down and leaned her own against it feebly. "No, dear," she sighed. "It's nobody's fault, unless it's mine!" "Is the pain gone?" "Quite gone, dear." Nevertheless the pain was to prove the final wrench to a heart that had been on the verge of breaking for many a year, and it was not long before Olive and Cyril were motherless. Mr.

He had no right to make any such offer it had come from his heart in passionate sincerity, but it was not his to give. Olive was still his wife. Disguise it as he would, he was still Clifford Matheson. He must leave Elaine to think that pity alone had moulded his words.

Would there be anything gained by transplanting old olive trees 6 to 8 inches in diameter over nursery stock? They would have to be shipped from Santa Clara to Butte county and grafted. Would they come into bearing any sooner and be as good trees? Could the large limbs be used to advantage? Would the fact that they are covered with smut cause any trouble?

In comparatively mild cases, we give an hour of this cooling process every morning only, and the warm washing and anointing with olive oil at bedtime; but in such cases as we sometimes meet with, where drugs have done their mischievous work, it is necessary to cool much more frequently.

Nat scowled a minute and then said frankly, for every one was frank with Olive, "I really don't know what sort of an animal a bird is, though I'm sure it is an animal. Don't you think Uncle Roy will tell us?" "I'm sure he will be glad to, if he is not very busy, and he is seldom too busy to talk of birds. He is writing a book now of all the things he knows about them. Knock on the door, Dodo."