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of the man--and the impression consisted entirely of tallness.

rugs and carrying wood, grumbles if you suggest such a thing.

If I wore silk stockings for the rest of my life, I don't believe

Jerusha Abbott has commenced to be an author. A poem entitled, I've sold my story, Daddy. It's going to be published serially

rumpled frocks, wiped their noses, and started them in an orderly

And now I suppose you've been waiting very impatiently to hear

It's Sunday night now, about eleven o'clock,

And listen--I have a further thought. Since you are so afraid that by

chemistry and history. I like the historical method best.

to be awaited with dread, endured with courage and forgotten with haste.

it does leave an awfully empty, gnawing sort of sensation.

I love the furs and the necklace and the Liberty scarf and the gloves

doing everybody's bidding, scolded and hurried by a nervous matron.

trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we