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The dutiful husband drew from his pocket a long slip of paper and a small stubby pencil. Having a poor memory, he had formed the habit of making a note of everything his wife suggested, so that he could fulfill her wishes in future. The notes were plentiful, but they failed in some unaccountable way to prod his memory. “Isobel, play one of your pieces, let’s see how your recital helped you to-day.” “Ma! Mamma Bennett,” he burst out as he banged open the door; “she’s coming,—our little earthquake girl! The cutest kid,—not so big as the twins, but stylisher in the face.”.
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Conrad
Billy hesitated a minute. The dim room, the wicked-looking red lights, Bess so stern and mysterious,—this might frighten the little girl. He ought to wait. “How splendid! You must go, Billy. Do all the boys mind you?” “Lots o’ them, St. Elmo. I seen some the other evenin’ in the moonlight. Some was dressed in green an’ silver, some in white an’ silver. They danced in an’ out among the sunflowers.” “The fleetin’ of youth is most sartin,” answered his wife, coining this epigram on the shortness of life’s spring-time, and sighing as she spoke. The good lady herself was looking through a stereoscope at some views and finding one of Niagara Falls she endeavored to cheer her despondent husband..
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