wuthless creetur' that Massa Joe won't be trustin' little missy with. I ain't a-wishin' nobody no harm, I ain't, but I'se powerful willin' the mislaid uncle stays lost forever. Yes, suh," he assured his fellow-servants.
The violets were in a cut-glass bowl which Peter received no reprimand for bringing, though it was the choicest piece in his master's possession, but, as the old man reasoned: "The fittenest one for posies what had travelled in a little gell's trunk, all the way from Californy." The gouty foot had ceased to torment its owner; the street without was utterly quiet; the fire glowed in the grate, and its glow was reflected in a lonely old man's heart as on the happy face of a little girl who nestled beside him. He remembered her statement that she could sing, but he had been musical in his own day and shrank from discord. Could a child so young make real melody? He doubted it, yet it was now his intention to make her as happy as it lay in his power to do, for the brief while that he might keep her; and he recalled her mother's written words:
