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Updated: June 16, 2025
She was so weary she felt she might lie down and sleep for twenty years, and like Rip Van Winkle awaken old and gray. It was foolish of her to be so uneasy about that letter. Was it a premonition that compelled her to return to the schoolroom and search again for it? Perhaps the old janitress might have found it. The young girl quickened her pace.
He crawled down again and sought out the janitress, who stopped watching an ice-wagon in the street to say: "I guess you'll be finding him asleep up there, sir. He do be lying there drunk most of the day. His wife's left him. The landlord's give him notice to quit, end of August. Warm day, sir. Be you a bill-collector? Mostly, it's bill-collectors that " "Yes, it is hot."
The janitress can send Edith to me as soon as she comes, and I will leave her with Lisa while I run back here to consult with you and Helen. I shall telegraph for Dr. Thorne, also, to be sure that this sleep is as natural and healing a thing as it appears to be. Mrs. Grubb was surprised, even amused, at Rhoda's exciting piece of news, but she was perfectly tranquil.
He glanced down into the gloomy area, where a lean and untidy cat was prowling, and where there sounded, echoing, the undistinguishable harangue of the fretful Italian janitress. Now Johnnie's general survey was done. He always made it short, wasting less than one minute in looking down or around.
She didn't come back again; I guess she began to suspect something herself." "Why, don't you suppose he ever meant to come?" Cornelia asked, tremulously. "I don't know," said the janitress. "I didn't tell her so.
Within, there is mirth and laughter. The Tenth Ward Social Reform Club is having its Christmas festival. Its members, poor mothers, scrubwomen, the president is the janitress of a tenement near by, have brought their little ones, a few their husbands, to share in the fun. One little girl has to be dragged up to the grab-bag. She cries at the sight of Santa Claus. The baby has drawn a woolly horse.
Trembling with fear, Caillette hurried downstairs and asked the janitress whether she had seen anything of the "Burned Woman." The janitress looked at her in amazement and said she had thought at once when she saw the old crippled woman creeping down the stairs two hours before that all was not right in her head. "But she cannot walk at all, how could she get out?" groaned Caillette.
When I had entered the First Baptist Church in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and stood for a moment looking about me, I heard someone exclaim, "Oh, there he is! There he is!" and presently I found myself locked in the affectionate embrace of an apparently very happy old woman. She was about seventy years of age. She was the janitress of the church.
She pondered over them as she lay in her stifling little dark bedroom at night, or attended to her work by day, and she waged many an imaginary battle for the beautiful, idle woman who represented the grace of life to her. The fat janitress sometimes stopped to gossip a moment with Druse. "Ever seen Miss De Courcy on your floor?" she asked, one day, curiously.
The two teachers carried her to a remote room, the bed-chamber of the janitress, and then obeyed an order of the principal calling her associates to the second floor. A band of men were coming up the winding stair with measured, military tread towards the landing, where the principal, with her assistants gathered around her, stood to confront them. She was young, beautiful, and of calm temper.
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