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He could not picture Furbush marrying Mary or anyone else, for that matter and he doubted whether Furbush would have married her. Still, it appeared that Mary had cared for him, and now her little romance was over. "It's awfully hard on Mary, isn't it?" "Yes." Furbush was gone. Who would take his place? His place, an Assistant Professorship there was now a vacancy!

But Tom, who heard the low-spoken words, thought them decidedly forced and disliked Furbush the more for them. Furbush's presence was undoubtedly a drawback to Tom's pleasure. How could he be natural with a person whom he disliked as much as he did Furbush and who he knew disliked him? Besides, he did not feel like being sprightly and picnicky with Nancy beside him.

As they were passing up to the side door, Billy, who heard their footsteps, came out, and shaking hands with Mary, and trying hard to keep from laughing at the wonderful courtesy, which Sal Furbush made him. On entering the house they found Mrs. Bender flat on her back, the pillow pulled out from under her head, and the bed clothes tucked closely up under her chin.

"I knowed Bill Furbush well, he came here about the same time I did, he from Massachusetts, and I from Varmount; but, poor feller, he was too weakly to bear much, and the first fever he took finished him up. His old woman was as clever a creature as ever was, but she had some high notions." "Did she die too?" asked George.

Dawson explained that he was getting a little stale on The Winter's Tale, and the change was hurriedly made. What an object lesson was this for the keen-eyed young instructor! On the one hand was the Scylla of Mr. Brainerd and on the other was the Charybdis of Mr. Furbush.

Mary blushed painfully, as she tried to hide her bare feet with her dress, but she answered, "When mother died I had only two pair, and Miss Grundy says I sha'nt wear them every day. It makes too much washing." "Miss Grundy! She's a spiteful old thing. She shook me once because I laughed at that droll picture Sal Furbush drew of her on the front door. I am afraid of Sal, ain't you?"

At last remembering that she had left Sal Furbush behind her, and knowing that it was time for her to go, she arose, and leaning on Jenny, whose arm was passed lovingly about her, she started to return.

Few, however, were able to walk; so they remained at home, and Sunday was usually the noisiest day in the week. Sal Furbush generally took the lead, and mounting the kitchen table, sung camp meeting hymns as loud as she could scream.

I couldn't help acting like Sal Furbush, the old crazy woman, who threatened to toss us up in the umbrella." "Forgive me, darling," said Emma coaxingly; "I will not do it again;" then stooping down, she looked intently into my eyes, soliloquizing, "Yes, it is wrong to tell her so."

"Isn't he hateful?" said Jenny, wiping the water from her neck and shoulders; "but grandma says all boys are so until they do something with the oats, I've forgot what. But there's one boy who isn't ugly. Do you know Billy Bender?" "Billy Bender? Oh, yes," said Mary quickly, "he is all the friend I've got in the world except Sal Furbush."