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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Please come in," she said; "I shall be at liberty in just a moment.... Come, father!" Ellen hesitated. "Perhaps I'd better not, today," she murmured, and slowly descended the steps. The discreet maid closed the door behind her. Ellen did not at once return home. She walked on reflecting. So the old man was Lydia Orr's father! And she was the first to know it!
Harrison Orr never intimated that his evenings at home were hours of boredom, but in later years spent much time in the comparative quiet of his club. Few intellects can be so amply stored as to continue brilliant through decades of much speaking, and the sparkle of Mrs. Orr's conversation was gradually shrouded in the weariness of what a blunt neighbor termed her "inveterate gabble."
Orr's receptions, where we met Robert Browning, a fine-looking man of seventy years, with white hair and mustache. He was frank, easy, playful, and brilliant in conversation. Mrs. Orr seemed to be taking a very pessimistic view of our present sphere of action, which Mr. Browning, with poetic coloring, was trying to paint more hopefully.
The solemn black clock stood swaying with its eternal "tick-tock, tick-tock," in the kitchen of the brown house on Orr's Island. There was there that sense of a stillness that can be felt, such as settles down on a dwelling when any of its inmates have passed through its doors for the last time, to go whence they shall not return.
A mile beyond the Coliban are the washing huts of John Orr's Station, and about three miles to the left is his residence; the house is stone, with verandahs, the garden and vineyards are prettily laid out.
I've had peculiar exercises of mind about that ar child, well I have;" and Miss Roxy pulled a large spotted bandanna handkerchief out of her pocket, and blew her nose like a trumpet, and then wiped the withered corners of her eyes, which were humid as some old Orr's Island rock wet with sea-spray. Miss Emily had a secret love of romancing.
* We have been taken to task about this description of the jury-room; but we believe, and have good reason to believe, that every circumstance mentioned in it is a fact Do our readers remember the history of Orr's trial, where three- fourths of the jurors who convicted him were drunk a fact to which they themselves confirmed upon oath afterwards? "Give me your hand, Jack, we're agreed he swings!"
Adams was well-to-do in the world, and had expectations from an uncle, and didn't Moses think he was interesting in conversation? Everybody said what a conquest it was for an Orr's Island girl, etc., etc.
Four years had passed since the fair Pearl of Orr's Island had been laid beneath the gentle soil, which every year sent monthly tributes of flowers to adorn her rest, great blue violets, and starry flocks of ethereal eye-brights in spring, and fringy asters, and goldenrod in autumn.
"Yes, an' Archie Orr's a pore sort o' crittur to git left wi' two women-folk," said Raw Harris, rising from his upturned bucket and putting forth his argument, regardless of its irrelevance. "Not a stick to shelter him which I mean 'them. An' not a dog-gone cent among 'em. By G , Arizona's right." "That's it," put in Joe Nelson; "you've hit it.
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