It was a way he had of hushing it up when he wanted to think.
II.
LONG-HEADED WILLIE.
"De biskits is cold, and de steaks is cold as--as--ice, and dinner's
spiled!" said Curlypate, a girl about three years old, as Mr. Blake came
in from his forenoon of visiting. She tried to look very much vexed and
"put out," but there was always either a smile or a cry hidden away in
her dimpled cheek.
"Pshaw! Curlypate," said Mr. Blake as he put down his cane, "you don't
scold worth a cent!" And he lifted her up and kissed her.
And then Mamma Blake smiled, and they all sat down to the table. While
they ate, Mr. Blake told about his morning visits, and spoke of Parm'ly
without coal, and Peter Sitles with no broom-machine, and described
little Ben Sitles' hungry face, and told how he had visited the widow
Martin, who had no sewing-machine, and who had to receive help from the
overseer of the poor. The overseer told her that she must bind out her
daughter, twelve years old, and her boy of ten, if she expected to have
any help; and the mother's heart was just about broken at the thought of
losing her children.
Now, while all this was taking place, Willie Blake, the minister's son, a
boy about thirteen years of age, sat by the big porcelain water-pitcher,
listening to all that was said.
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