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"Here she is here is our Bessie!" exclaimed a voice, and a fine-looking young fellow in an ulster ran lightly down the platform as Bessie waved her handkerchief. He was followed more leisurely by a handsome, gray-haired man with a quiet, refined-looking face. "Tom oh, Tom!" exclaimed Bessie, almost jumping into his arms, as he opened the carriage door. "Were mother and Hattie very frightened?

If he could only have understood all that the man was saying to him, he might even yet have turned back. But he did n't. He ordered another drink. The only effect that the talk of Sadness had upon him was to make him feel wonderfully "in it." It gave him a false bravery, and he mentally told himself that now he would not be afraid to face Hattie.

"You evidently think," said your Uncle, "that they would not sing the Lord's songs, if this were to them a strange land." "They certainly have not hung their harps upon the willows by these rivers of Babylon," said Hattie.

It may have been minutes, it seemed to Emmy Lou hours, before there came a general up-rising. Hattie stood up. So did Sadie and Emmy Lou. Their skirts no longer stood out jauntily; they were quite crushed and subdued. There was a wild, hunted look in Hattie's eyes. "Watch the chance," she whispered, "and run." But it did not come.

Frank thought of his own sisters of Hattie, who was gone, and of Helen, who, though she should wed a prince, would never, he was sure, shut her doors against him; and he was filled with pity for the poor old man. "But you must have had friends?" "I had one, who was a fast friend enough when he was poor and I had a little property.

"But but but just how bad will it hurt, Miss Searight?" inquired Hattie, looking at her, wide-eyed and serious. "Dear, it won't hurt you at all; just two or three breaths of the ether and you will be sound asleep. When you wake up it will be all over and you will be well." Lloyd made the ether cone from a stiff towel, and set it on Hattie's dressing-table.

Liltingly, and with the rill of the song of thanksgiving in her heart. That was how Hattie moved through her time. Hugging this melody of Marcia. Through the knife-edged nervous evenings in the theater. Bawlings. Purple lips with loose muscles crawling under the rouge. Fetidness of scent on stale bodies.

We have been blessed with five children, four of whom are living Donald F., Horace E., Ida A., and Hattie A. Gibbs; Donald a machinist, Horace a printer by trade.

"Well, well!" cried the Doctor, rising and greeting him with outstretched hand, "a hearty welcome home. You know everybody here, I believe? Even Mrs. Queerington tells me she has met you. And this is Hattie. I am quite sure you were not prepared to see her so tall." Donald, retaining Hattie's hand, made the round of greetings. "Where are Connie and Bert?"

Good things. Not that I'm ashamed of anything I ever told her. My only wrong was ignorance. And innocence. Innocence of the kind of lesson I was to learn from you." "Nothin' was ever righted by harping on it, Hattie." "But I want you to understand O God, make him understand she's such a sensitive little thing. And as things stand now glad I'm her mother. Yes, glad black-face and all!