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Updated: May 20, 2025
You know he never allows any one to touch them." "I am not prying," cried Bab indignantly. "I only came in here to look for the city directory. I thought it might be on Mr. Hamlin's desk." "A likely story," interrupted Bab's accuser scornfully. "If you wished the directory, why did you not ask Mr. Hamlin to lend it to you? You wanted something else! What was it? Tell me?"
If Miss Celia expected to see the last bit of hem done when her story ended, she was disappointed; for not a dozen stitches had been taken. Betty was using her crash towel for a handkerchief, and Bab's lay on the ground as she listened with snapping eyes to the little tragedy. "Is it true?" asked Betty, hoping to find relief in being told that it was not.
He is going out of town to-night, but Mrs. Wilson is to stay with us. Father is not going until after dinner, and Mrs. Wilson and Elmer and Peter Dillon will be here to dine with us. So we shall have rather a jolly party. You girls had better dress." Harriet's was at once informed of Bab's good luck, and in offering Barbara her congratulations she forgot to tell the rest of her story.
"Oh, Mother Bab," she cried breathlessly one day in autumn as she ran back from the gate after a visit from the postman, "it's a letter from France!" Phares Eby and his mother ran at the news and the four stood, an eager group, as Phœbe opened the letter. "Read it, Phœbe! He's over safely!" Mother Bab's voice was eager. "I I can't read it. I'm too excited. I can't get my breath.
The postmark on Bab's letter was unfamiliar, however, so she did not trouble to open it, until she heard what Ruth had to say. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Ruth ejaculated. "See here, Bab, Aunt Sallie writes us that she cannot come on to Washington. She has rheumatism, or something, in her shoulder and does not want to make the long trip.
"I think I won't wait for Mrs. Wilson. Please tell her that I thank her and that I'll write." "Very well," replied the young man. "I will deliver your message." He held the heavy portieres back for Bab as she stepped into the hall and accompanied her to the vestibule door. "Good-bye, Miss Thurston," he said with a peculiar, meaning flash of his blue eyes that completed Bab's discomfiture.
But this was not the time to ask questions. Bab's mind was divided between the wonder and delight she felt at the scene before her, and amazement at Mollie's secret. "I do hope," she thought, as she followed Mr. Hamlin up the steps, "that Mollie has not borrowed that gown of Harriet. But no; it fits her much too well.
There was a bright letter of New York gossip published in the New York Star, called "Bab's Babble." Edward had read it, and saw the possibility of syndicating this item as a woman's letter from New York. He instinctively realized that women all over the country would read it.
Bab felt that he would be sure to believe that she was deliberately meddling with matters that did not concern her. She looked at Mrs. Wilson. The forbidding expression on her face left no doubt in Bab's mind that the older woman would carry out her threat. Suddenly it flashed across the young girl that perhaps if Mrs.
"We must go now. There's a train at eight-twenty-one gets to Lancaster at ten-forty-five and we'll get the last car out to Greenwald and Phares will meet us and drive us home." I asked about the home folks as I watched David adjust Mother Bab's shawl. He looked older and worried. I suppose he was disappointed because the Big Doctor didn't promise a quick cure for Mother Bab's eyes.
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