Nora's knowledge, meanwhile, was too torturing to be borne. No sooner had she left her brother than she caught the heavy little one into her slight arms, and ran. Breathless, and choked with sorrow, she told her mother all she knew, and roused the Drogans, who in turn called up the Smiths, the Fays, the Holahans, the McCarthys. From right and left the neighbors swarmed forth on a vain and too familiar trail: the Spirit of Poverty flying unmercifully ever to the rescue of her own, she
——"that would upon the rack of this rough world
Stretch them out longer."
Two of Hughey's letters had to go undelivered: one belonging to a corporation which never existed, and one to a heartbroken woman who set sail for the Isles of Healing, before the dawn.
THE END.
THIS BOOK HAS BEEN PRINTED DURING
DECEMBER 1895 BY JOHN WILSON AND
SON OF CAMBRIDGE MASSACHUSETTS
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Katharine Tynan Hinkson.