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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Perhaps she's over to Mrs. Bracken's?" suggested Mrs. Schuneman and she followed Mrs. Donovan across the hall. But Mary Rose was not at Mrs. Bracken's. Neither was she in any other apartment in the Washington. Mrs. Donovan's ruddy face lost its color. "She can't be lost," she said, expecting Mrs. Schuneman promptly to agree with her that Mary Rose could not be lost.
Wilcox were graduates of the same college and that Mr. Blake's grandfather and Mrs. Bracken's grandmother had once sung in the same church choir. Miss Carter and Bob Strahan were often seen strolling together and more than once they had transported Mary Rose to the seventh heaven of delight by taking her to a moving picture show.
"Oh, dear, I wish we were safely at " she paused. "At home?" he asked quickly. "At Bracken's," she finished; and if any of the pursuers had been near enough he might have heard the unmistakable suggestion of a kiss. "I feel better," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Now, let me think. We must outwit these fellows, whoever they are. By George, I remember one of them!
We're in the same number class." "Ye gods! Long yellow curls on a swart-faced black-eyed Russian." Bob Strahan laughed at the combination. Miss Carter looked at him reproachfully as she swung the conversation to the safe subject of Mrs. Bracken's niece. "I wonder what Mr. Wells will have to say about her?" she asked. "He can't steal her canary for she hasn't one," muttered Bob Strahan.
He was but lately come from Cambridge, at which seat of learning the chief books appeared to be Bracken's Farriery and Gibson on the Diseases of Horses, with Hoyle's Whist as lighter reading for leisured hours.
"And we can get to Bracken's!" she cried triumphantly. A deep flush overspread her pretty face. "Hooray!" he shouted with a grin of pure delight. Far away on the opposite bank Anderson Crow and his sleuths were congregating, their baffled gaze upon the man who had slipped out of their grasp.
"Jes' a swaller or two, Bishop," he said coaxingly, as one talking to a child "Quick, now, you're not yo'self exactly you've dropped into poetry." "I guess I am a little teched, Jack, but I don't need that when I can get poetry, sech poetry as is now in me. Jack, do you want to hear the gran'est verse ever writ in poetry?" "No no, Bishop, don't! Jack Bracken's yo' friend, he'll freeze to you.
The mob rushed wildly at the jail at the flash of Jack Bracken's pistol, all but one, a boy whose old dueling pistol still pointed at the space in the air, where Richard Travis had sat a moment before its holder nerveless rigid as if turned into stone. He saw Richard Travis pitch forward off his horse and slide limply to the ground.
"We'll beat them to Bracken's by a mile," cried Jack Barnes. "If they don't shoot us," she responded. "Why, oh, why are they so intent upon killing us?" "They don't want you to be a widow and break a lot of hearts," he said. "If they hit me now you won't be dangerous as a widow." "Oh, you heartless thing! How can you jest about it?
She'll make a fine ad. Who are you, honey?" And Mary Rose told them who she was and how she had come from Mifflin to make her home with Aunt Kate and Uncle Larry in the cellar-basement, she meant; and how she had had to board out George Washington and had taken Jenny Lind to Mrs. Bracken's for company while she earned money to pay for George Washington's board.
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