Lizzy Glenn; Or, The Trials of a SeamstressArthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
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Lizzy Glenn; Or, The Trials of a Seamstress
Arthur, T. S. (Timothy Shay)
Women dressmakers -- Fiction
Just then there came from the adjoining room a wild burst of girlish
laughter.
"What's that?" A strange surprise flashed over the face of Mr.
Bancroft.
"Kate and Mary are in a gay humor this morning," said the mother.
"But what have you been dreaming about, dear?"
As this question was asked, a strain of music was heard floating up
from the parlor, and the voice of Flora came sweetly warbling a
familiar air.
The father buried his face in the pillow, and wept for joy. He had
awakened from a long, long dream of horror.
From that time Mr. Bancroft became a wiser man. He was no longer a
murmurer, but a thankful recipient of the good gifts sent him by
Providence. His wife bore him, in all, ten children, five of whom
have already attained their majority. He never wanted a loaf of
bread for them, nor anything needful for their comfort and
happiness. True, he did not "get ahead" in the world, that is, did
not lay up money; but One, wiser than he, saw that more than enough
would not be good for him, and, therefore, no efforts that he could
make would have given him more than what was needed for their "daily
bread." There was always enough, but none to spare.
I'LL SEE ABOUT IT.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
MR. EASY sat alone in his counting-room, one afternoon, in a most
comfortable frame, both as regards mind and body. A profitable
speculation in the morning had brought the former into a state of
great complacency, and a good dinner had done all that was required
for the repose of the latter. He was in that delicious, half-asleep,
half-awake condition, which, occurring after dinner, is so very
pleasant. The newspaper, whose pages at first possessed a charm for
his eye, had fallen, with the hand that held it, upon his knee. His
head was gently reclined backward against the top of a high,
leather-cushioned chair; while his eyes, half-opened, saw all things
around him but imperfectly. Just at this time the door was quietly
opened, and a lad of some fifteen or sixteen years, with a pale,
thin face, high forehead, and large dark eyes, entered. He
approached the merchant with a hesitating step, and soon stood
directly before him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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