Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. " "But why didn't you oppose him?" "I had to let him have his way, else he might not have returned safely. . . At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. " "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. . " "But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?" implored Winifred. The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son.
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