” “Mary, please don’t cry. 1. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. And the fences are down for good. They were so good to me. Wood," said she, in the deep, hoarse accents of consumption; "and may God Almighty bless and reward you for your kindness! You were always the best of masters to my poor husband; and now you've proved the best of friends to his widow and orphan boy. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. ” He replied solemnly, looking straight into her eyes. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife.
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