Beadle's Dime Novels No. 127: Bald Eagle — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 11 “ Why, yes; here is a blister on your hand; let me wrap it up,’ and the small red hand lifted the large brown one ten- derly. The woman shook her off, swung her leg and brought her heel down with vehemence, and drew the empty, dead pipe, like one determined not to be appeased; but the girl silently laid some cooling mixture upon the injured hand and with- drew into the darkness, “Come here, Mag; are you sniffling ?” cried the woman, ‘No, indeed, mother,” was the answer, in a soft voice, try- ing to be courageous, but the owner did not come forward. There was a pause, and again a sound, as if a heart had broken loose again, which was succeeded by a cough, meant to cover it up and drag it ‘into place. “IT say come here, Mag,” cried the woman, binging her heel down with a swing, and holding the pipe bolt upright in her hand, while she turned her head sideways in the direction of the darkness whence had issued the suspicious sound. There was a clatter of little high-heeled shoes, and a small figure stood in the fire-light, habited in a short, pea-green moreen petticoat, surmounted by a white muslin loose sack, drawn in at the waist by a pink ribbon. The hair was combed up from the low, fair forehead, and fell in long tresses at the back of the head; at the left sidg were a few leaves and a blush rose It was a pretty, child-like figure, to which the short dress was not unbecoming. ‘The dark eyelashes were wet, and the lips trembled, but they smiled nevertheless, and the white throat swallowed down the lump that would come up, resolutely. “You are sniffling; I knew it by the sound ; what ais you 2” “I—TI wish Richard would come, mother. I feel dread- fully.” a “ What ails you ?” inquired the other, looking only at the re, - Somebody i is sobbing and erying—crying. Oh, mother | I wish you loved me better, ” and the girl knelt down and laid a hand upon the woman’s knee. “What should I love you for?” still looking at the fire, and drawing the imaginary smoke. commicloOoks.conhn