"How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. And would you mind hurrying a little. And you’d better have her fetch in some food for the missie, an’ all.
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