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One brilliant Sunday Mr. Wells paced up and down in the sunshine before his little church. An ardent lover of nature he was admiring the beautiful shades of the foliage on either hand and the gorgeous masses of golden-rod that lifted feathery heads to the sun. Presently seeing two or three vehicles approaching he retired into the church. He smiled wanly, and her heart ached for him; but she knew sympathy was unsafe just then. “If you could see that comical, crooked eye of yours blinking at me, like a chicken asking your intentions, you’d laugh, Billy.” “This milk happens to be cream. I’ve been wondering what kind of a dessert will take all this.”.
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Conrad
“White eyebrows child! What are you talkin’ about? Yer eyebrows are blacker nor that stove.” At first he could not eat with relish, his mind was so distracted with admiration of the magnificent room, and impatient to get his worrying secret off his heart and conscience. But his wise host ordered so artfully, and filled the intervals of waiting with such delightful stories and anecdotes, explanations of the decorations, funny facts or conjectures concerning the hotel and guests, that before he knew it, Billy had, he told his mother afterward, referring to his stomach, “loaded her up to the guards, ’nough to make you ’shamed of me, mother.” “Naw Nosey,” he retorted, “there ain’t no bun to break in two, the dorg is outside the bun already.” “Does he?” May Nell stared innocently into the darkening eyes. “I should think that would make you awfully agitated.”.
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