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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

And that is not all.
He got out of bed this afternoon, though he could hardly stand,
and covered up all his bruises and his broken wrist so you
couldn't see them, and then he limped down to the station so you
would get the truth about your father and not be frightened. And
now he is in a dead faint."
Ruth's eyes flamed and the color left her cheeks. She stretched
out both hands as if to keep from falling.
"Saved daddy!" she gasped--"Carried him out on--Oh! Aunt
Felicia!--and I have been so mean! To think he got up out of bed
and--and--" Everything swam before her eyes.
Miss Felicia sprang forward and caught her in her arms.
"Come!--none of this, Child. Pull yourself together right away.
Get her some water, nurse,--she has stood all she can. There now,
dearie--" Ruth's head was on her breast now. "There--there--Such a
poor darling, and so many things coming all at once. There,
darling, put your head on my shoulder and cry it all out."
The girl sobbed on, the wrinkled hand patting her cheek.
"Oh, but you don't know, aunty--" she crooned.


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