Main  Contacts  
Table of contents
Coming Home
Old Friends with New Faces
Miss Campbell
Thorns Among the Roses
Prince Charming
Polishing Mac
Phebe
Breakers Ahead
New Year's Calls
The Sad and Sober Part
Small Temptations
At Kitty's Ball
Both Sides
Aunt Clara's Plan
Alas for Charlie!
Good Works
Among the Haycocks
Which Was It?
Behind the Fountain
What Mac Did
How Phebe Earned Her Welcome
Short and Sweet

 

"I ought not to have kept him a minute longer than I could help, for 

it wasn't all pity; it was my foolish wish to show off and do as I 

liked for a minute, to pay for being good about the gown. Oh, me! 

How weak and silly I am in spite of all my trying!" And Miss 

Campbell fell into a remorseful reverie, which lasted till she got 

home. 

 

"Now, young man, what brought you out in this driving storm?" 

asked Rose as Jamie came stamping in that same afternoon. 

 

"Mama sent you a new book thought you'd like it. I don't mind 

your old storms!" replied the boy, wrestling his way out of his coat 

and presenting a face as round and red and shiny as a well-polished 

Baldwin apple. 

 

"Much obliged it is just the day to enjoy it and I was longing for 

something nice to read," said Rose as Jamie sat down upon the 

lower stair for a protracted struggle with his rubber boots. 

 

"Here you are, then no yes I do believe I've forgotten it, after all!" 

cried Jamie, slapping his pockets one after the other with a 

dismayed expression of countenance. 

 

"Never mind, I'll hunt up something else. Let me help you with 

those your hands are so cold." And Rose good-naturedly gave a tug 

at the boots while Jamie clutched the banisters, murmuring 

somewhat incoherently as his legs flew up and down: "I'll go back 

if you want me to. I'm so sorry! It's very good of you, I'm sure. 

Getting these horrid things on made me forget. Mother would 

make me wear 'em, though I told her they'd stick like like 

gumdrops," he added, inspired by recollections of certain dire 

disappointments when the above-mentioned sweetmeat melted in 

his pockets and refused to come out. 

 

"Now what shall we do?" asked Rose when he was finally 

extricated. "Since I've nothing to read, I may as well play." 

 

"I'll teach you to pitch and toss. You catch very well for a girl, but 

you can't throw worth a cent," replied Jamie, gamboling down the 

hall in his slippers and producing a ball from some of the 

mysterious receptacles in which boys have the art of storing 

rubbish enough to fill a peck measure. 

 

Of course Rose agreed and cheerfully risked getting her eyes 

blackened and her fingers bruised till her young receptor gratefully 


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