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"Yes; good cover's scarce, and if the birds are disturbed they move down to Rafton Woods. For a sporting neighbor, Hayton hardly plays the game. To put down corn is, of course, allowable, but he uses damaged raisins!" "Then you don't feed?" "Very little," Osborn replied. "Corn's too dear. The Tarnside pheasants live on the country." "I expect that really means they live on the farmers!"

"I want her and I want her right away." Madelene fell back a step, wax-white. "Elsie!" she echoed. "Isn't she home?" "Madelene," Ebenezer began in a deadening voice, "you know me well enough not to play with me like this. Where's my daughter?" Madelene's hands came together. "She's not here!... She's home, Ebbie, dear, she must be!" "She's not!" fell from Waldstricker. "Call Helen!"

"Hasn't that letter come yet, Captain Fishley?" asked an ancient maiden lady, who entered the store while I was polishing Ham's boots. "I haven't seen anything of it yet, Miss Larrabee," replied the postmaster. "Dear me! What shall I do!" exclaimed the venerable spinster. "My brother, down in Ohio, promised to send me forty dollars; and I want the money awfully.

To be happy, to place the certainty of life in faith, to lean till death should come upon that one strong staff of travel such was the desire exhaled by every breast, the desire which made every moral grief bend the knee, imploring a continuance of grace, the conversion of dear ones, the spiritual salvation of self and those one loved.

However, as the sayin' is, 'time will tell, an' Kathleen's own good sense will show her what a match he'd be." The sisters then retired to bed; but before they went, Kathleen approached her mother, and putting an open palm affectionately upon each of the good woman's cheeks, said, in a voice in which there was deep feeling and affection: "Good-night, mother dear!

Fleda rose to her knees, and putting both arms about her aunt, pressed face to face, with a clinging sympathy that told how very near her spirit was, while tears from the eyes of both fell without measure. "Dear aunt Lucy dear aunt Lucy I wish you would I am sure you would be a great deal happier "

He intended, he said, to confess to his mother that he had fallen in love with the most beautiful, innocent, and virtuous girl in all the wide world, and to tell her that he should never be happy again unless she would see Leila and eventually consent to her becoming his dear little wife. He told the confiding girl that he intended to lavish on her all his wealth.

Those were the first thoughts that merged themselves into a coherent whole in Dea Flavia's head after Caius Nepos and the others had bowed themselves from out her presence, and there was her sense of the power of giving, that sense so dear to a woman's heart.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." This meritorious but disjointed performance was followed by a protracted and trying silence, I sitting patient, and Boy wondering in my lap. At last she half rose, and, looking around, cautiously whispered, "Dear Mam Mattoon! I love you. I think of you.

"Ah, my dear brother," cried Madame Montaigne, starting up, and banging fondly on the arm of the stranger, "why have you lingered so long in the wood? You, so delicate! And how are you? How pale you seem!" "It is but the reflection of the moonlight, Teresa," said the intruder; "I feel well." So saying, he scowled on the merry party, and turned as if to slink away.