Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Give him his medicine every half hour. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. E. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. Mr. ” “Never for a second. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know.
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