Spurlock grew cold. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. "Don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!" shrieked Mrs. However, to cut a long matter short, my proposal's this: —I've taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as I've no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of Mrs. Then, if you are bad to me, I can more easily blow off your head. . " Mechanically raising the potion to her lips, the poor creature swallowed it without hesitation.
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