Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 8, 2025
But Miss Brown She made toward the nursery, doing her newest dance step. Miss Brown was stocky, with a firm tread and an eye of decision. Up and down the key-board of the instrument her plump hands galloped. Gwendolyn paused beside the piano-seat. The air was vibrant with melody. The lifted face, the rocking, the ardent touch all these inspired hope. The gray eyes were wide with eagerness.
"To find her father and mother," answered the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, stoutly. At that Jane shook her huge pompadour. "Father and mother!" she cried. "Indeed, you won't! Not while I'm a-takin' care of her." And reaching out, caught Gwendolyn by a slender wrist. The Man-Who-Makes-Faces seized the other.
"We must get rid of her," he declared. "You know what I said. She'll make us trouble!" "Here! None of that!" It was Jane once more, the grin replaced by a dark look. "I'll have you know this child is in my charge." Again she tried to seize Gwendolyn. The Man-Who-Makes-Faces stood his ground resolutely and swung the curved knife up to check any advance.
Whereat the little old gentleman suddenly subsided into silence. "Yes, I protect old people," reiterated the other, "and the blind, of course, and the trees and the flowers and the fountains. Also, the statues. There's the General, for instance. If I didn't watch out, folks would scribble on him with chalk." Gwendolyn assented. Once more she was beginning to have belief in him.
A murmur went up and down the double row of chairs. Gwendolyn's mother smiled radiantly. Her glance over the table was proud. "This is my little daughter's seventh birthday anniversary," she proclaimed. To Gwendolyn the announcement was unexpected. But she was quick. Very cautiously she lifted herself on her toes just a little. Another buzz of comment circled the board.
She set the tray down and came to the bed-side. Gwendolyn's eyes were wide with wonder. "How how ?" she began. Her mother answered. "Jane called down to the Policeman, and he ran to the house on the corner." Now the dimples sprang into place, "Goody!" exclaimed Gwendolyn, and gave a little chuckle. Her mother went on: "We never can feel grateful enough to her, because she was such a help.
"Look a-here!" he began roughly, addressing all three; "you're goin' to make a great big mistake if you antagonize a man that belongs to a Labor Union." "Bosh!" cried the Policeman. "What do we care about him! Why, he'll never even get through the Gate!" Gwendolyn was puzzled. What Gate? And why would Thomas not get through it?
"I hate ladies!" cried Gwendolyn, rapping her heels by way of emphasis. "Tale-bearing is vulgar," asserted Miss Royle. "Next year I'm going to day-school like Johnnie Blake!" "Oh, hush your nonsense!" commanded Thomas, irritably. Miss Royle glanced up at him. "That will do," she snapped. He bridled up. "What the little imp needs is a good paddlin'," he declared.
If I had dat guy's money I'd buy a hotel like dis." "Then I see where Holloway, with that blonde dame upstairs, will be putting on a new musical show, with a new angel. It's a great business, Miss Gwendolyn no wonder they call it art." And the clerk removed a silk handkerchief from his coat cuff, to dust the register wistfully.
Afterwards there had been music, Russell at the piano, and Gwendolyn and Belle with their violins, and she had sat upon the sofa by the gracious, new-found friend, who stroked her rough hand gently with her white jewelled fingers, and talked to her softly, in the pauses of the music, of what her mother was like as a girl. Verily, Aunt Rutha had a wonderful way of making one feel at home.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking