The small head was sweetly bent with an air of studious absorption--a head with two long plaits of braided gold, a scarlet satin bow at the end of each.
It seems to me now that these bows were like the touch of frosted woodbine in a yellowing elm, though at the moment I must have been unequal to this fancy.

I saw, too, the tiny chain that clasped her fair throat, her dress of pale blue, and, most wonderful of all, two tassels that danced from the tops of her trim little boots.

The air was indeed too heavy with beauty.

But the reading lesson continued.
The years that stretch between that time and this have not bereaved me of the knowledge that Mr.Barton graciously accommodated Hiram Strosser, after vainly seeking to induce "Mr.Hawley, a wealthy merchant of Milk Street," to share half the risk.
At this point a row of stars on the page indicated a lapse of ten years.
Mr.Barton, "pale and agitated," examines with deepening despair, "page after page of his ponderous ledger." At last he exclaims, "I am ruined, utterly ruined!" "How so ?" inquires Hiram Strosser, who enters the room just in time to hear the cry.

Mr.Barton explains,--the failure of Perleg, Jackson & Co.