THE RED RUGS OF TARSUS
a day and has more work than her limited strength can accomplish. Moreover, she has such a mixed crowd that it might not be wise for her to handle a baby case.
If we had taken the little church in Squee- dunkville we used to talk about in Princeton days, instead of setting out to see the world like a couple of fellows in a Grimm's fairy tale, you would now be forwarding the bassinette Grandma gave me when I was born. Some nosey old parishioner would be trimming it up for me. I am a Presbyterian, turned Congre- gationalist on account of geography, but "con- formity unto" would give me fits when it came to parishioners' notions. I am much too hasty and human to suit anybody.
Your grandbaby will open its eyes five thou- sand miles from its grandmother. The family heirlooms must wait for the second grandbaby.
Some weeks ago I had the school steward (name, when spoken, sounds like Asturah) go to a Fellahin village near Tarsus and have a [52]
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