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She pulled absently a loose lock of hair a little-girl trick that came back to her in moments of abstraction and looked down at her feet. When she looked up, it was to say with a bewildered air, "But a man has to earn his living." Rankin made a gesture of impatience, and stopped working to answer this remark. "A living isn't hard to earn. Any healthy man can do that.
Poor Janey's head went down against the white counterpane; she never dreamed that the little-girl aunt, dead fifty years ago, with apple cheeks under a slatted sun-bonnet, and more apples in her lunch bag, had come in a vision of old orchard and sun-bathed river, to put her warm little hand in her brother's again, and lead him home.
She stopped when she met Maria, and gave a little, shy look her old little-girl look at her. Maria also stopped. "Good-morning, Jessy," said she. Then she asked how she was, if her cough was better, and where she was going to work. Then, suddenly, to Jessy's utter amazement and rapture, she kissed her. "I never forget what a good little girl you were," said she, and was gone.
She dropped her black lashes against her pink cheeks and spoke irresponsibly. "But suppose suppose I should fall in love with you?" she asked in a most little-girl voice. "Don't you see how dreadfully unhappy I would be?" "Oh, you won't," Clarence assured her in a tone whose casualness did not quite hide his welcome of the prospect.
Mel had come in late for his examination that year and barged into the wrong room. A shower of little-girl squeals had greeted him as the teacher told him kindly where the boy's examination room was. But he remembered most vividly Alice Dalby standing in the middle of the room, her blouse off but held protectingly in front of her as she jumped up and down in rage and pointed a finger at him.
I am leaving my little-girl days on the shore with you, and I am out on the open sea of life. I shall know that you are shining, though I cannot see you. Good-by! Shine on, dear light! I am going to seek my fortune!" Extracts from Polly Oliver's Correspondence. SAN FRANCISCO, November 1, 188 .
Her eyes looked very big and round in the darkness, and her face wore the little-girl scarey look as she reached up for his hand and clutched it tight, while her other hand pointed across the primrose ring to the row of beds. "See, they look empty, quite -quite empty." "Just nerves." And he patted the hand in his reassuringly; he tried his best to pat it in the old, big-brother way.
In a flash Sylvia understood something to which she had been resolutely closing her perceptions. She felt sick and scared. She clutched the side, watched a hill rise up steep before them and flatten out under the forward leap of the car. She thought hard. Something of her little-girl, overmastering horror of things, rough, outspoken, disagreeable, swept over her.
I kissed the poor little-girl cry-spots; and with that a perfect flood of tears rose to my eyes but they didn't fall, for there, right in front of me, stood a more woe-stricken human being than I could possibly be, if I judged by appearances. "Molly, Molly," gulped Billy, "I am so ill I'm going to die here on the floor," and he sank into my arms. "Oh, Billy, what is the matter?"
Smilingly the niece's eyes came back. "Don't stop," said Chester. "What followed for 'Maud' Sidney your boy father your little-girl aunts? Did the clock in the sky call them North again?" "No." The speaker rose. "I'll tell you on the train; I hear it coming." "There's a train every half-hour," Chester said. "Yes, but the day-laborer must be home early."
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