Oh my God, I wish my tongue had been torn out by the roots before I'd said a word about her blessed little dress; I wish Fan had cut up every old rag I've got; I'd go dressed in fig-leaves before I'd had it happen.

Oh! oh! oh!" Young Joe Bemis, of _The Star_, was the first to leave, whirling madly and precariously down the street on his wheel, which was dizzily tall in those days.

Mrs.Zelotes, hailing him from her open window, might as well have hailed the wind.

Her family dissensions were well aired in _The Star_ next morning, and she always kept the cutting at the bottom of a little rosewood work-box where she stored away divers small treasures, and never looked at the box without a swift dart of pain as from a hidden sting and the consciousness as of the presence of some noxious insect caged therein.
Mrs.Zelotes was more successful in arresting the progress of the other editors, and (standing at the window, her Bible on the little table at her side) flatly contradicted all that had been told them by her daughter-in-law and her sister.

"The Louds always give way, no matter what comes up.