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While looking for Miss Paulsen, of Pittsburg, of the drowned, she came to a coffin which was marked "Mrs. H.L. Peterson, Woodville Borough, Pa., age about forty, size five feet one inch, complexion dark, weight about two hundred pounds." This was quite an accurate description of Mrs. Peterson. She tore the card from the coffin and one of the officers was about to arrest her.
A Tale of Real Life. By Mrs. Emma D.E.N. Southworth. Philadelphia. T.B. Peterson & Brothers. 12mo. pp. 455. $1.25. The Works of Charles Dickens. Household Edition. Illustrated from Drawings by F.O.C. Darley and John Gilbert. Great Expectations. 2 vols. New York. James G. Gregory. 16mo. pp. 336, 334. $1.50. The Silver Cord. A Novel. By Shirley Brooks. New York.
Whoever he might be, John Heron was in some way concerned with Beverley's secret, or Peterson would not have spoken his name in that connection. She answered quietly: "Mr. Peterson allows me to go on speaking for him." "Very well," returned the voice. "Mr. Peterson called Mr. Heron up not long ago, to say he could sell him a rope of fine pearls for Mrs. Heron, at a low price.
"I had a little conversation with you the other day, Mr. Peterson. I called to see you in the interests of the men, the men that are working for you working like galley slaves they are, every man of them. It's shameful to a man that's seen how they've been treated by the nigger drivers that stands over them day and night."
And Peterson, that day they had gone across the river together why had Peterson behaved so clownishly, following his familiar greeting of Sylvia? Peterson hadn't behaved like himself at all. And why had she been so reluctant to tell him about the thing that had happened in her father's house? Was that the course an innocent woman would have pursued? What was the explanation of these things?
Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers." "In which, sir?" "Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening News, Standard, Echo, and any others that occur to you." "Very well, sir. And this stone?"
And Arnold Baxter came up, hardly believing his eyes. "We were following you, Arnold Baxter," answered Dick quietly. "For what?" "To see what you were going to do next?" "Have you found Sam and Tom?" questioned Dan quickly. "Dan, be still!" thundered his father. "You are always putting your foot into it." "I reckon you chaps are fairly caught," put in Luke Peterson.
"Curly" the camp cook was caressing his violin, and "Snake River Jim," tolerably drunk, was in his place beside him, while Ole Peterson, redolent of the livery-stable in which he worked, constantly felt his muscle to show that he was prepared to do his share with the big bass drum. As Andy P. Symes moved through the rapidly growing crowd no one but Dr.
Peterson the other night. Well, that's all right if you can do it. But I think that sooner than recall me or have a strike they would be willing to pay for protection." "You do. I didn't look for that much sense in you. If you'd shown it sooner it might have saved your employers a large wad of bills.
Peterson into the secret, for they knew mother could hold her tongue, which was more than could be said of all the miners' wives. But Curdie did not tell her that every night he spent in the mine, part of it went in earning a new red petticoat for her. Mrs. Peterson was such a nice good mother! All mothers are nice and good more or less, but Mrs. Peterson was nice and good all more and no less.
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