ly
versions of consonants!

Poor Susan Burr had then flashed across her recollection, provoked by
the bread-and-butter Dolly baptized with the bitter tears she shed over
Peter's leg. That naturally led to the household loaf, which was
buttered before the slice was cut; sometimes the whole round, according
to how many at tea. This led to a controversy of long standing between
Dave and Dolly, as to which half should be took first; Dave having a
preference for the underside, with the black left on. Students of the
half-quartern household loaf will appreciate the niceties involved. In
this connection, Susan Burr had come in naturally, like the officiating
priest at Mass. Poor Susan! Suppose, after all, that Europe had been
mistaken in what seemed to be its estimate of married nieces at Clapham!
Suppose Susan was being neglected--how then? But marriage and Clapham,
between them, soothed and reassured misgivings a mere unqualified niece
might easily generate. By this time the waking dreamer was on the
borderland of sleep, and Mrs. Burr's image crossed it with her and
became a real dream, and whistled the tune the boy had whistled to
Farmer Jones's Bull. And into that dream came, suddenly and unprovoked,
her sister Phoebe of old, beautiful and fresh as violets in April, and
ended a tale of how she would have none of Ralph Daverill, come what
might, by saying, "Why, you are all in the dark, and the fire's going
out!"

This resurrection of Phoebe, at this moment, may have been mere
coincidence--a reflex action of Gwen's sudden reappearance; her first
words creating, in her hearer's sleep-waking mind, the readiest image of
a youth and beauty to match her own. As soon as the dream died, the
dreamer was aware of the speaker's identity. "Oh, my dear!" she said,
"I've been asleep almost ever since you went away."

"Mrs. Masham was quite right, for once, not to let them disturb you. Now
they'll bring tea--it's never too late for tea--and then we can read
your little friend's letter." Thus Gwen, and the old woman brightened up
under a living interest.

"There now!" said she. "The many times I've told my boy that one day he
would write my letters for me, instead of me for him! To think of his
managing all by himself, spelling and all!"

"Well, we shall see what sort of a job the young man's made of it. Put
the candles behind Mrs. Picture, Lupin, so as not to glare her eyes."
Lupin obeyed, with a studied absence of protest on her f