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Scherman's damask table-cloths, and as the ivy leaf or morning-glory pattern comes out under the polish, some beautiful thought in her takes line and shade under the very rub of labor, and shows itself as it would have done no other way, and that by and by it will shine on a printed page, made substantive in words, then, perhaps, you have only not lived quite long or deep enough.

"But I won't go into one of those offices, nor off into the country for the winter. I want to keep something to hold on to, not run out to sea without a rope." Desire did not propose advertising, as she had done to Dot; she would let Kate wait a week. A week in the new condition of things might teach her a good deal. There was trouble in Mrs. Frank Scherman's pretty little household.

"And about that dusting," she went on, after the noise of the hot water rushing from the faucet was over, and she began dropping the things carefully down through the cloud of steam into the great pan full of suds, and fishing them up again with a fork and a little mop, "about the dusting, I didn't finish. It's a work of art to dust Mrs. Scherman's parlor.

If Asenath Scherman's real life had been anywhere but in her home and with her children, if it had consisted in being dressed in train-skirt and panier, lace sleeves and bracelets, with hair in a result of hour-long elaboration, at twelve o'clock; or of being out making calls in high street toilet from that time until two; or if her strength had had to be reserved for and repaired after evening parties; if family care had been merely the constantly increasing friction which the whole study of the art of living must be to reduce and evade, that the real purpose and desire might sweep on unimpeded, she would soon have given up her experiment in despair.

Ingleside's two saddle-horses, Frank Scherman's little mountain mare, that climbed like a cat, and was sure-footed as a chamois, these with a side-saddle for the use of a lady sometimes upon the last, make up the general equipment of the expedition. All Mrs. Grundy knew was that they were wonderfully merry and excited together, until this plan came out as the upshot.

The young man spoke with a strength in the clear voice that could be so light and gay. "And tender, too. 'Thou layest Thine hand upon me," said Delight Goldthwaite. Sin Saxon was quiet; her own thought coming back upon her with a reflective force, and a thrill at her heart at Frank Scherman's words. Had these two only planned tableaux and danced Germans together before?

She caught up pencil and paper, and the other fragment also, Mrs. Scherman's own rhyme about the "peaches." Mrs. Scherman met her at the parlor door. "I'm sorry to interrupt you," she said; "but the baby is stirring. Could you, or Kate, go up and try to hush her off again? If I go, she'll keep me." "I will," said Bel. "Here is that 'Crambo' you were talking of at tea, Mrs. Scherman. I kept it.

If there is anything in this story that you cannot credit, if you cannot believe in such a relation, and such a friendship, and such a mutual service, as Asenath Scherman's and Bel Bree's, if you cannot believe that Bel Bree may at this moment be ironing Mrs.

They're related, sometimes, and they ain't bad together; but yet, apart, they're different." Mrs. Frank Scherman's front door-bell rang. Of course she had to go down and open it herself. When she did so, she let in two girls whose pretty faces, bright with a sort of curious expectation, met hers in a way by which she could hardly guess their station or errand.

But this search and this finding, and the motive of it, were the soul and the crown of Leslie's pleasure for the day. She did not even stop to think how long she had had Frank Scherman's attention all to herself, or the triumph that it was in the eyes of the older girls, among whom he was excessively admired, and not very disguisedly competed for.