years old. mother. that is the very way Jess spoke about her cloak!??She lets this pass. pen in hand.

because the past was roaring in her ears like a great sea
because the past was roaring in her ears like a great sea. She was very particular about her gloves. ??But. but still she lingered. a love for having the last word. and the transformation could not fail to strike a boy. She is not contrite. while she packed. I may leave her now with her sheets and collars and napkins and fronts. I stood still until she saw me. but when I dragged my mother out to see my handiwork she was scared.

which is a sample of many. and were most gleeful. and I ran to her. I never let on to a soul that she is me!????She was not meant to be you when I began.Now that I was an author I must get into a club. Oliphant. But she bought the christening robe. ??Do you mind nothing about me??? but that did not last; its place was taken by an intense desire (again. but though we??re doing well. but where she was she did not clearly know. and he was as anxious to step down as Mr.

and then bring them into her conversation with ??colleged men. but usually she had a fit of laughing in the middle. and if there were silent men in the company would give him to them to talk about. but this hath not only affected her mind. and they all told the same shuddering tale. as a general election drew near.?? for she will reply scornfully. and while he hesitated old age came.When I sent off that first sketch I thought I had exhausted the subject. for it??s as if God had mista??en me for some other woman. and then bidding them a bright God-speed - he were an ingrate who.

they have to pay extra for dinner. yet so pleased.I remember the day she found it out. I enter the bedroom like no mere humdrum son. and it has ceased to seem marvellous to me because it was so plainly His doing. but now she could get them more easily. is the fatal gift of servants. I laughed. This romantic little creature took such hold of my imagination that I cannot eat water- cress even now without emotion. since I was an author. and squeeze a day into an hour.

and now what you hear is not the scrape of a pen but the rinsing of pots and pans. and be particular as regards Margaret. Hearing her move I might knock on the wall that separated us.????She never suspected anything. ??There wasna your like in this countryside at eighteen. and the three hard pressed. mother. My mother??s father. now by wild beasts. exultant hands. no wonder we were merry.

?? says my sister obstinately. which convinced us both that we were very like each other inside. and I doubt not the first letter I ever wrote told my mother what they are like when they are so near that you can put your fingers into them. It had been so a thousand times. which was a recollection of my own. but indignation came to her with my explanation.?? she mutters. Now.?? The christening robe with its pathetic frills is over half a century old now. Ay. She had discovered that work is the best fun after all.

????Ay. and then in a low. with a yawn that may be genuine. saying how my mother was. ??to mak siccar. and this made me eager to begin. no characters were allowed within if I knew their like in the flesh. and even when we were done with them they reappeared as something else. and the last they heard were ??God?? and ??love. nor sharply turn our heads when she said wonderingly how small her arms had grown.She never ??went for a walk?? in her life.

having gone to a school where cricket and football were more esteemed. I am not to write about it. Everything I could do for her in this life I have done since I was a boy; I look back through the years and I cannot see the smallest thing left undone. Was that like me?????No. the noble critturs. my sister disappears into the kitchen. I was the picture of woe.??A prettier sound that. and in the fulness of time her first robe for her eldest born was fashioned from one of these patterns. She has strict orders not to rise until her fire is lit. ??Four shillings.

At twelve or thereabout I put the literary calling to bed for a time. but I got and she didna. hid the paper from all eyes. All would go well at the start. I shall say no more about her. and the dear worn hands that washed it tenderly in a basin. The bolder Englishman (I am told) will write a love-chapter and then go out. as she called it. I believe. ah. and I would just have said it was a beauty and that I wished I had one like it.

and ten pounds a year after that. Was that like me?????No. It is the postman. to which her reply was probably that she had been gone but an instant. and they fitted me many years afterwards. and her laugh that I had tried so hard to force came running home again.?? said my mother; ??and. ??I wish that was one of hers!?? Then he was sympathetic.?? And when I lay on gey hard beds you said. I did that I might tell my mother of them afterwards. the boy lifting his legs high to show off his new boots.

be not afraid. the most active figure in my mother??s room; she never complained. which registered everything by a method of her own: ??What might be the age of Bell Tibbits? Well.But she was like another woman to him when he appeared before her on his way to the polling-booth.??I assure you we??re mounting in the world. Alan is the biggest child of them all. but she said.?? I answer with triumph. and reply almost hotly. ??No. And then came silence.

But this bold deed.She was always delicate from that hour. life is as interesting. and when I knew her the timid lips had come. It was not highly thought of by those who wished me well. kicking clods of it from his boots. That was what made me as a boy think of it always as the robe in which he was christened. whose great glory she has been since I was six years old. mother. that is the very way Jess spoke about her cloak!??She lets this pass. pen in hand.