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A small, hatchet-faced man had come up from below and was nodding his head to Leslie Wrandall, a man with short side whiskers, and a sepulchral look in his eyes. Then, having received a sign from Leslie, he tiptoed away. Almost instantly the voices of people singing softly came from some distant, remote part of the house. And then, a little later, the perfectly modulated voice of a man in prayer.
"Nate got up and tiptoed acrost the room. He was in his stockin' feet, so he didn't make a sound. He reached into the corner and took out his old duck gun. It was loaded, both barrels. Nate cocked the gun and crept down the back stairs.
"Forgive me, O my kitchen gods, forgive my injurious hands and heart; but the love of my master is even greater than my fear of thee. Thou and I, we bar the gates of heaven from him." When she had finished, she tiptoed around the room, touching the chairs and tables with caressing fingers. She stole out into the courtyard, and bent to inhale the lily fragrance, sweeter by night than by day.
Blaze could not bear to think of the consequences, for he was very fond of the women and children of Jonesville, especially the women. He rose from his hammock and tiptoed down the porch into the kitchen, from which point of security he called loudly for his daughter. Alarmed at his tone, Paloma came running. "What is the matter?" she asked, quickly. "Get her out!" Blaze cried, savagely.
'After all, she discovered, 'there are different kinds of men and I never knew men like these two. Then, when she thought of Yellow Barbee, she sniffed. Barbee was about her own age; she considered him a mere child and transparent. She had said good night to her father, but now suddenly in a mood for conversation went out into the hall and tiptoed to his door.
They waited a moment, still blinking, to regain control over their eyes in spite of the care they had used to shield them. Then they tiptoed across the floor. In the top of the safe yawned a hole large enough to stick one's hand and arm through! Constance reached into the safe and drew out something on which she flashed the pocket light.
"Yes, hon, it's me." "Sh-h-h-h!" He tiptoed down the aisle of hallway and into the soft-lighted front room. From a mound of pillows and sleepy from their luxury Millie Moores rose to his approach, her forefinger placed across her lips and a pale mist of chiffon falling backward from her arms. What a masseuse is Love!
Last summer while I boarded at Reists' I was so sorry not to meet you! Of course I met Martin and some of the younger children but the mother is always the most adorable one of the family! Oh, come here, dear, you darling," she cooed to little Emma, who had tiptoed into the room. But Emma held to her mother's apron and refused to move. "Ach, Emma," Katie, a little older, chided her.
Holding it with the light slanting over it, he peered inside, but found no inscription. "No maker's name strange," he said. He tiptoed to the foot of the stairs and listened intently; "he must be asleep; he won't hear me," and noiselessly he closed the door. "I guess if I play a tune on it he won't know." He took the bow from its place in the case and tightened it. He listened again.
Marguerite had one, and played it with a taste and skill that knew no competitor in all the surrounding region. It had belonged to her father. Before she was born, all Lafayette parish had known it tenderly. Before she could talk she had danced courtesied and turned, tiptoed and fallen and risen again, latter end first, to the gay strains he had loved to wring from it.
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