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"Yis. It ole Dido," she said. "But ole Dido not lost. Dat great massa, he look after ole Dido.",

"The latter. You must know, Maurice," continued the major, "that Mrs. Dallas, though well born and well married, is an extremely ignorant woman. She was brought up mostly by Dido's grandmother, who was the most accursed old witch in Barbadoes, or out of it for the matter of that. This old hag instilled into the mind of Mrs. Dallas all kinds of superstitions in which she really believes. When the grandmother died Dido became nurse to Isabella, and private witch of the Dallas household. She is clever--wonderfully clever--and she has continued her grandmother's system of terrorizing both Mrs. Dallas and Isabella.",

By this time I was in such a solution of grief that I would soon have had to be sopped up with a sponge if Pet hadn't run in all bubbling over. Happiness has a habit of not even acknowledging the presence of grief, and Pet didn't seem to see our red noses, crushed draperies and generally damp atmosphere.,

"Suits me to a gnat's heel," declared Patricia eagerly. "Food is a secondary article, anyway, when it comes to character study. I'm not so keen on cookery since I sighted this tasteful apartment."

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"If I were there enough to know the different girls, I'd know who it was without much trouble," she declared.,

"Initiation's over!" shouted someone in a voice of authority, and suddenly the candle-lights vanished into a tumultuous darkness, while there was a confusion of scurrying noises that made Patricia's head swim for a moment.,

The major went at once to "The Wigwam," but, notwithstanding all his eloquence, in spite of the tears and implorings of Isabella, the negress positively declined to say a word against the Great Master.,

Then just as I had got the first plan well going and was deciding whether to wear the mauve crêpe de Chine or the white chiffon with the rosebud embroidery as a first dose for my friends, a sweetness came in through my window that took my breath away, and I lay still with my hand over my heart and listened. It was Billy singing right under my window, and I've never heard him do it before in all his five years. It was the dearest old-fashioned tune ever written, and Billy sang the words as distinctly as if he had been a boy chorister doing a difficult recitative. My heart beat so it shook the lace on my breast, like a breeze from heaven, as he took the high note and then let it go on the last few words.