You said you were going to write some new songs after the wedding." "I was," sighed Billy, walking to the window, and looking listlessly at the bare, brown world outside; "but I can't write songs--when there aren't any songs in my head to write." "No, of course not; but they'll come, dear, in time.

You're tired, now," soothed Aunt Hannah, as she turned to leave the room.
"It's the reaction, of course," murmured Aunt Hannah to herself, on the way up-stairs.

"She's had the whole thing on her hands--dear child!" A few minutes later, from the living-room, came a plaintive little minor melody.

Billy was at the piano.
Kate and little Kate had, the night before, gone home with William.
It had been a sudden decision, brought about by the realization that Bertram's trip to New York would leave William alone.

Her trunk was to be carried there to-day, and she would leave for home from there, at the end of a two or three days' visit.
It began to snow at twelve o'clock.