I pinched the latter, and she gave a wail.

Aunt Mercy passed her hand across her mouth, but the eyes of the two women were stony in their sockets.

Grand'ther ended his grace with an upward jerk of his head as we seated ourselves.
He looked sharply at me, his gray eyebrows rising hair by hair, and shaking a spoon at me said, "You are playing over your mother's capers." "The caper-bush grows on the shores of the Mediterranean sea, Grand'ther.

Miss Black had it for a theme, out of the _Penny Magazine_; it is full of themes." "She had better give you a gospel theme." He was as inarticulate when he quoted Scripture as when he prayed, but I heard something about "thorns"; then he helped us to baked Indian pudding--our invariable Saturday night's repast.

Aunt Mercy passed cups of tea; I heard the gulping swallow of it in every throat, the silence was so profound.