"
"What was it?" I asked.
"I'll wager half I own that the wife of our friend the Judge wouldn't
have given that window a second glance," pursued the Philosopher.
"It was probably a bargain sale of paper patterns," guessed the Skeptic.
But we knew he didn't think it.
"A bargain sale of groceries, more likely," said Hepatica herself.
"It was no bargain sale of anything," denied the Philosopher. "It was a
most expensive edition of the works of Charles Dickens."
"Good for you, Patty!" cried the Skeptic.
III
AZALEA AND THE CASHIER
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.
--_S. T. Coleridge._
"I am to spend the day with Azalea to-morrow," I announced, as I said
good night, one evening, "and I shall not come back until so late that
you mustn't sit up for me. Azalea couldn't ask me to stay all night, on
account of using the guest-room for a nursery during the winter, but
she's very anxious to have me there in the evening, for it's the only
chance I shall have to see her husband.
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