Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant.
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