The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. "It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. My trouble is with your sister. ’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. And then suddenly—a relief. " "But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?" implored Winifred. CHAPTER III.
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