Bradford's encouraging words, the more cheerful and hopeful he grew. If he could get work "by going a hundred miles further" he ought to be well satisfied, he said to himself. So he cheered up his almost desponding heart, in Franklin fashion, as he proceeded upon the next hundred miles. But more trials awaited him, however, somewhat different from those already experienced.

Bradford's legs retained the same inability to do anything their owner did not wish as had distinguished them during Miss Ethel's lifetime, so towards sunset she sent Caroline to do various errands in the village. As the girl went along, she had on her right the old grey tower of the church standing with a sort of noble repose against the red and orange sunset.

After he had finished them, he strolled slowly about the dark town past his school-house, thinking that his teaching days would soon be over past Peter's blacksmith shop, thinking what a good fellow he always was past Mr. Bradford's editorial room, with a light under the door and the curtain drawn across the window. Two or three times he lingered before show-windows of merchandise.

"I was John Bradford then, too. Didn't I carry her all right? What was the matter?" Suddenly he leaned forward in the chair. "Did you kiss her thumbs?" he demanded. "I kissed her eyes." They were silent for a little, while Miss Theodosia set small, nervous stitches in John Bradford's shirt, and John Bradford twiddled the edges of the magazine.

Faults no doubt there are ... yet with all its defects Bradford's writings still remain the worthy first-fruits of Puritan literature in its new home. They are the work of a wise and good man, who tells with a right understanding the great things that he and his brethren have done." The wise governor was loyal to his colony to the last.

The two girls had been with their mother in Mrs. Bradford's morning-room after they returned from school, when Patrick came to the door and delivered "a parcel for Miss Bessie." The nature of this parcel disclosed itself even before it was opened.

To counteract this Franklin published in Bradford's paper, "The Mercury," a series of essays after the manner of Addison, to which he subscribed the name "Busy-Body." Other members of the Junto contributed to the series; and Keimer, being stung by their satire, replied with coarse abuse, and also with attempted imitation.

On the day following that of Tom Bradford's disappearance, Bart and Billy were assigned to special duty as part of an officers' escort on a mission to a neighboring town. After they had left Frank found himself very lonely, especially as he had an afternoon off duty.

"They are Sylvia Gibbs's children," said Lloyd, in answer to Doctor Bradford's astonished comment at seeing so many little negroes in a row. "They can scent a pahty five miles away, and they hang around like little black buzzahds waiting for scraps of the feast. I suppose they feel they have a right to be heah to-day, as Sylvia is helping in the kitchen.

The wretched youth had not the slightest idea; all he knew was that they were not his own. He thought they might be Bradford's. After prayers the Chief addressed the House on the subject. He pointed out how carelessness in little things led to carelessness in greater, and how dangerous it was to get into a habit of taking other people's things without thinking.