That Girl of Johnson's — page 198: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, - 187 CHAPTER XXXV, BUT LIFE WENT ON. Her father was dead; she knew it; she accepted it in silence after the first wild return to the realization of what had come upon her. Only once, when she was alone with young Green, while they were making preparations to con- vey the body home, did she show any sign of emotion. She seemed to have turned to stone; she was tearless, silent with a silence that told of deeper suffering than words or tears could tell. She was standing at the little window in their parlor looking out upon the busy street. Dora, who had come to her upon receiving the telegram of her uncle’s death, was in the inner room with Mrs. Allen and the doc- tors and one or two of the attendants. She was looking out upon the street, but she saw noth- ing; her gaze seemed to have turned inward upon her own soul accused by her conscience. Her father was dead— dead. Never before had she seen death. Betsy Glenn died over in Scrubtown, and she was not with her when she died. Besides, though Betsy Glenn was the one friend, the only woman for whom she had cared or who cared for her, yet her death was not like this. Betsy Glenn had spoken of death as something to be desired, passing from one scene to another with nothing sad about it, only awaiting for those who were left. This was different. She knew abso- lutely nothing about any other life, about anything beyond the days that passed much alike to her—or .had passed much alike to her until these friends came into her life. Heaven was where the stars were; her astronomy told her of God, an infinite Being, all powerful, all merciful; the Creator of all things, but farther than that she knew nothing. | Her father was dead. Dead to her meant as he looked comicboo “S (E(@) mn.