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Updated: June 25, 2025
Rosella was on the rack, and slowly, inevitably, resistlessly the temptation grew and gathered, and snared her feet and her hands, and, fold on fold, lapped around her like a veil. A great and feminine desire to shift the responsibility began to possess her mind. "I cannot help it," she cried. "I am not to blame. It is all very well to preach, but how would any one do in my case?
Even though 'Patroclus' is not what we expected of it, your effort over it will help you in something else. You did work hard at it. I saw that. You must have put your whole soul into it." "That," said Rosella, speaking half to herself "that was just the trouble." But Trevor did not understand. Reprinted from The Atlantic Monthly of May, 1906 by permission
'Dat dawg ain' good fo' nothin' ailse; so I jes rickon he 'th boun' to be a coon dawg;" and the author of "Snow in April" pounded the arm of his chair and roared till the gas-fixtures vibrated. Then at last, taking advantage of a lull in the talk, Rosella, unable to contain her patience longer, found breath to remark: "And 'Patroclus' my my little book?" "Ah hum, yes. 'Patroclus, your story.
I couldn't spare you!" "Goo!" said baby brother, holding out his arms to Drew. Drew did not say anything, but he took baby brother. "Drew," said Rosella, "I'm going straight to work. Aren't you? I'm ashamed of myself. To think that a Chinese girl who once did not know about Jesus, would work so hard now for her mite box, and you and I haven't!
Beltis but I thought I might ask if you had come to to my little book yet." In five minutes of time Rosella knew just where Harold Vickers was to be placed, to what type he belonged. He was the young man of great talent who, so far from being discovered by the outside world, had not even discovered himself.
A note of pipes was in the air, sheep bleated, and Daphne, knee-deep in the grass, surging an answer to the pipes, went down to meet her shepherd. Rosella breathed a great sigh of relief. Here at last was a possibility a new writer with a new, sane view of his world and his work. A new poet, in fine. She consulted the name and address given Harold Vickers, Ash Fork, Arizona.
All the money saved in the mite boxes was to go toward sending the news about Jesus to the heathen girls and boys across the ocean. The Sunday-school superintendent said so, and so did the sweet old blind missionary woman, who had talked to the scholars. Rosella and Drew carried their mite boxes across the fields toward their tent.
The letter still rested half in, half out of the drop. She still held it there. By now Rosella knew if she let it fall she would do so deliberately, with full knowledge of what she was about. She could not afterward excuse herself by saying that she had been confused, excited, acting upon an unreasoned impulse. No; it would be deliberate, deliberate, deliberate.
But Rosella was glad that she and Drew had worked to send the news about Jesus to heathen children. Mary E. Bamford, in "Over Sea and Land." A True Story of a Young Christian It was late in May when we last saw Ti-to's father.
Dear me, elopements have their drawbacks, haven't they?" Other passengers joined them, Veath and Lady Huntingford among them. In the group were Captain Shadburn, Mr. and Mrs. Evarts, Mr. Higsworth and his daughter Rosella, Lieutenant Hamilton a dashing young fellow who was an old and particularly good friend of Lady Huntingford.
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