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Mrs. Newman and Nell waited after the show for the unique trio that had occupied the box but they were nowhere to be seen. Howard Eliot had whisked his companions off under a pretext of urgent business. “Have you been to the show this week, Miss Gordon?” He turned from the fire and stood with his back to the cheerful blaze. “Three you should say. Don’t you live in the dreamland of music? Eat your own breakfast, or you’ll be late for the train.”.

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He did laugh, yet was sober again. She was tucking the clothes close about him, preparing to lie down by his side. But he reached his arms out suddenly and flung them around her neck. “O mamma, the awfullest thing in the world next to doing a crime, must be not to have a mother. I must jolly May Nell more. And, mamma—mother, I don’t know why,—” his voice was very low and shy, “why God’s looked out for me so good; but anyway, you’re—you’re the whole bunch!” There was room on the slip of paper for only this last item, so numerous had been the demands, during this busy day, on Mr. Wopp’s memory. Mrs. Mifsud, however, had seemingly heard not a word of the story. In her distress she forgot that Mrs. Wopp was decidedly plebeian in her conversation and otherwise hopelessly unfashionable; all these discrepancies vanished from her mind, and leaning over on the ample bosom, she wept copiously. Mrs. Wopp patted her in a motherly way. “One touch o’ nater makes the hull world a-kin,” she whispered, “Hearten up, Mis’ Mifsud, Moses ’ll find yer little lamb. That boy seems slow, but all’s not gold that’s a-glitterin’. He’s shorely got a nose fer findin’ things. Our black carf got lost on the prairie one day an’ he found it arter everybody else hed giv’ up huntin’.” “Why doesn’t Billy come?” she asked of Bouncer; and the dog ran out of the door and stood on three legs, one forefoot lifted, his eyes fixed on the spot where Billy had disappeared. But no master was to be seen, and he went back to May Nell, whined, and put his nose on her knee..