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I could lose my head when I think of Miss Carvel." "Miss Carvel was here, you say?" Stephen repeated, in a tone of inquiry. "Donner!" said Richter, disgusted, "you don't care." Stephen laughed, in spite of himself. "Why should I?" he answered. And becoming grave again, added: "Except on Judge Whipple's account. Have you heard from him to-day, Carl?"

Whipple's close was this: "There sleep now, within the sound of my voice, the bones of a man who once stood up in the revolutionary battles for his country.

For the seed, sowed in wisdom and self-denial, was bearing fruit. The sound of gathering conventions was in the land, and the Freeport Heresy was not for gotten. We shall not mention the number of clients thronging to Mr. Whipple's office to consult Mr. Brice. These things are humiliating. Some of Stephen's income came from articles in the newspapers of that day.

J.C. Ives of the army Topographical Corps, the same officer who had been in the engineering section of Whipple's railway survey along the 35th parallel. The craft was built in the east and put together at the mouth of the river. The journey upstream was at a low stage of water and there was continual trouble with snags and sandy bars.

He paused, and looked up on a queer hush. "Securities?" croaked Dykeman. "To be converted ? Oh!" "Yes," in some surprise. "Or would the bank prefer to have them turned over in their present form?" Again a strained moment, broken by Whipple's nervous, "Maybe that would be better," and a quickly suppressed chuckle from Cummings. The agreement was in duplicate.

The paper was yellow with age and rotten from the weather-wear of trail, while the text was printed in Russian. "I didn't know you were a Russian scholar, Del," he quizzed. "But I can't read a line of it." "Neither can I, more's the pity; nor does Whipple's woman savve the lingo. I got it from her. But her old man he was full Russian, you know he used to read it aloud to her.

A young lady, who had listened to a solemn sermon of Dr. Posthelwaite's, slipped out of Church before the prayers were ended, and hurried into that deserted portion of the town about the Court House where on week days business held its sway. She stopped once at the bottom of the grimy flight of steps leading to Judge Whipple's office.

His letters to me, during the summer of 1851, were frequent and sometimes quite long. "The House of the Seven Gables" was warmly welcomed, both at home and abroad. On the 23d of May he writes: "Whipple's notices have done more than pleased me, for they have helped me to see my book. Much of the censure I recognize as just; I wish I could feel the praise to be so fully deserved.

Webster soon afterward, he mentioned this idea to him and inquired whether it could possibly have any foundation in fact. "Certainly it has," replied Mr. Webster. "Don't you remember our conversations during the long walks we took together last summer at Newport, while in attendance on Story's court?" It flashed across Mr. Whipple's mind that Mr.

"Oh, we'll come!" cried Freddie. "I love a camp!" Bert and Nan Bobbsey were so interested when they heard that Freddie and Flossie were going to see some sort of a camping scene at Mr. Whipple's store that they, too, begged to be allowed to join the party. "Come right along!" exclaimed the merchant. "The more the merrier. I hope you'll like it."