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