But Maud laughed, and shook her head.
“No, I don’t think Bessie is ’sponsible,” she said; “and mamma said I was to live just on purpose to do every thing for papa.”
And again Colonel Trevethick asked, but this time silently,—
“Was it—could it have been the child’s mother?”
THE LADY FROM OVER THE WAY.
It was the twilight of Christmas evening,—that twilight which always seems so early, since nobody is ever quite ready for it. The pale gray of the winter’s sky was scarcely flushed by the low-lying sunset clouds, though sometimes you could catch a gleam of their scant brightness as you turned westward.
The streets of New York were crowded, as usual, but everybody seemed even more than usually in a hurry. The air was intensely cold, and nipped the noses of those who were late with their Christmas shopping; but, in spite of it, men and women still jostled each other upon the sidewalk, or stopped to look at the tempting displays of holiday goods in the shops. Everybody, it seemed, had some small person at home who must be made happy to-morrow.