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He pointed with the stub of a buggy-whip: "About there is where four horses on a coal-wagon run away and went over. Two was killed and one was crippled so they had to shoot it." "Oh, how dread-ful!" Aunt Lizzie exclaimed, nervously. Miss Mercy's contralto voice boomed at him: "What happened to the driver?"

"Nasty thing!" exclaimed Miss Mercy, viciously, and raised her club to finish it. The blow landed, and Miss Mercy and the toad saw stars simultaneously, for Aunt Lizzie brought down a four-foot stick and crushed in the crown of Miss Mercy's alpine hat. "You dread-ful woman!"

He said such a bad word that Aunt Lizzie Philbrick exclaimed: "Oh, how dread-ful!" and asked him to remember where he was. Mr. Penrose replied that he did not care where he was that if her neck had been driven into her shoulders a foot she would say something, too. Mrs. J. Harry Stott and Mr.

"Oh, how dread-ful!" "'Tain't," Mr. Penrose contradicted Aunt Lizzie, curtly. "'Tis!" retorted Aunt Lizzie. They glared at each other balefully, and while everybody waited to hear if she could think of anything else to say to him, Miss Eyester returned panting: "The door's locked and there's a towel pinned over the window." "No!" They exclaimed in chorus, and looked at Wallie.

You couldn't make him 'ill' with a club with nails in it that feller." "Oh, how dread-ful!" Aunt Lizzie clasped her hands, and looked at the brutal cook reprovingly. "Perhaps one of us had better awaken him," Miss Eyester suggested. "He should eat something." "Hor! Hor! Hor!" Mr. Hicks laughed raucously. "Maybe he don't feel like eating. Let him alone and he'll come out of it."

"His bones was broke in a couple of dozen places, but they picked him up, and sence, he has growed together." Miss Mercy snickered. "You see that p'int ahead of us? Onct a feller ridin' a bronc backed off there. They rolled two hundred feet together. Wonder it didn't kill 'em." Aunt Lizzie was twisting her fingers and whispering: "Oh, how dread-ful!"