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"My share!" she exclaimed. "Why, you gave me the calf; you had no right to it." As she spoke she opened the package and unrolled a piece of cheap lawn yellow ground dotted with blue. She flung it angrily on the floor, and ran out of the room. Mr. Stillman turned to Rachel after a moment of dumb amazement, and said: "You can have the dress, Rachel. I'll teach Margaret a lesson."

Suppose this someone," and Stillman rapped his knuckles upon the edge of the desk excitedly, "took the notion to go into the picture stealing business of his own account. Hume himself with his much prized portrait of General Wayne was ready at hand and so," with a sweeping gesture, "what has happened, has happened." Pendleton, much impressed, looked at Ashton-Kirk.

All night Mr. Stillman watched by the bedside or walked up and down the long back porch. It could not be she would die his wife. It was the hot weather; she was just weak and tired. That was it, Mr. Stillman worn out, tired; and rest was coming. When Martha came, the mother who had so longed for her did not recognize her.

He fried two eggs, called Dollar Ingersoll, his dog son of Robert Ingersoll Stillman, gentleman dog then, in canvas hunting-coat and slouch-hat, tramped out of town southward, where the woods ended in prairie. Gertie's arrival was forgotten. It was a gipsy day.

It was so ridiculous to find this rather wan and wistful indiscretion assuming damaging proportions. But a nasty fear succeeded her faint amusement. Could it be possible that Stillman had gossiped? "Who told you?" she demanded. "Oh, don't be afraid; it wasn't Stillman! You're like all women, you moon about sentimentalizing over Ned until it makes a man like me sick! I like Ned; I always have.

Ffinch-Brown shook off Claire impatiently. "Hired you!" she sneered. "How extraordinary!" And with that she swept past, giving Stillman a glance of farewell. Claire turned to Stillman. "What must you think of me? Leaving my flowers behind. Confess it was you who sent them.... I was in such a rush to get away, though. I shouldn't have stayed so long.

There couldn't be any unhappier man, Archy Stillman; his life had been made up of misery of mind he isn't near as old as he looks. He has lost the feel of reposefulness and peace oh, years and years ago! He doesn't know what good luck is never has had any; often says he wishes he was in the other hell, he is so tired of this one."

From the scholars in the little log school-house in the Stillman district rose a buzzing sound as they bent over their desks, intent on books or mischief, as the case might be. The teacher, a good-looking young man of twenty or thereabouts, was busy with a class in arithmetic when a shrill voice called out: "Teacher, Rachel Stillman's readin' a story-book."

"I would never have married anybody," Eunice replied, with a fervent, faithful look. As she spoke, she seemed to see Henry Stillman as he had been, when a young man and courting her, and she felt as if a king had passed her field of memory to the exclusion of all others. "Maybe you wouldn't have," said her sister-in-law, "but nowadays girls have to take what they can get.

Miss G. A. Cowles designed a memorial window and a decorative border for the chancel of St. Michael's Church, Brooklyn. Together with her sister, she designed a window in the memory of the Deaconess, Miss Stillman, in Grace Church, New York City. These sisters now execute many windows and other decorative work for churches, and also superintend the making and placing of the windows.