Her scissors fell from her lap and struck the stone slab on which Henry was sitting.

He picked them up.

"Here are your scissors, Sylvia," said he.

"Now don't take on so.

What is it about?
What have you got on your mind?
Don't you think it would do you good to tell me ?" "I wish," sobbed Sylvia, "that Abrahama White had left her property where it belonged.