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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

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


But then there would be other outings at Morfordsburg, and so what
mattered one day when there were so many left? And with this
thought her tears dried up and she began to sing again as she
busied herself about the house--bursting into a refrain from one
of the operas she loved, or crooning some of the old-time
melodies which her black mammy had taught her when a child.
But now for Jack and what the day held for him of wonders and
surprises.
Some pessimistic wiseacre has said that all the dire and dreadful
things in life drop out of a clear sky; that it is the unexpected
which is to be feared, and that the unknown bridges are the ones
in which dangers lurk and where calamity is to be feared.
The optimistic Scribe bites his derisive thumb at such ominous
prophecies. Once in a while some rain does fall, and now and then
a roar of thunder, or sharp slash of sleet will split the air
during our journey through life, but the blue is always above, and
the clouds but drilting ships that pass and are gone. In and
through them all the warm, cheery sun fights on for joyous light
and happy endings, and almost always wins.


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