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The Story of Dago

Creator: Johnston, Annie Fellows, 1863-1931
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"I'm tired," she said, with an appealing glance of her big blue eyes at the old woman. "Mayn't we stay here and rest while we eat the cakes?" "Ach, yes, mein liebchen!" cried the motherly old soul, taking Elsie's cold little hands in hers. "Come back mit me, where is one leedle chair like yourself." She led the way into a tiny sitting-room at the rear of the shop, where a canary in a cage and geraniums blooming in the window made it seem like summer. Hot, spicy smells of good things baking, floated in from ovens somewhere out of sight. As Elsie sank down into the little chair, with a deep sigh, Phil trundled the wheelbarrow into the room, and for the first time the old woman caught sight of me and the music-box. You should have heard her exclamations and questions. She laughed at Phil's answers until her fat sides shook. Little by little she found out the whole truth about our running away, and seemed to think it very amusing. After we had rested awhile, Phil offered to give her a private performance. As he started to wind the music-box, she opened a door into a stairway and called, "Oh, Meena! Make haste, once already, and bring der baby!" In answer to her call, a young woman came hurrying down the steps,
Homo Sum

HOMO SUM By Georg Ebers Volume 4. CHAPTER XIII. The light in the town, which had attracted Paulus, was in Petrus' house, and burnt in Polykarp's room, which formed the whole of a small upper- story, which the senator had constructed for his son over the northern portion of the spacious flat roof of the main building. The young man had arrived about noon with the slaves he had just procured, had learned all that had happened in his absence, and had silently withdrawn into his own room after supper was ended. Here he still lingered over his work. A bed, a table on and under which lay a multitude of wax-tablets, papyrus-rolls, metal-points, and writing-reeds, with a small bench, on which stood a water-jar and basin, composed the furniture of this room;
carrying a big fat baby, who stared at us solemnly with its round blue eyes, and stuck its thumb in its mouth. But as the music started, and I began my dancing, he kicked and crowed with delight. The more he gurgled and cooed and waved his little fat hands, the broader the smiles spread on the women's faces. I mention this because the more he noticed us, the more his grandmother's heart seemed to warm toward us. When the music stopped, she went out of the room and brought us each a glass of milk and a little mince pie, hot from the oven. After we had eaten, Elsie got down on the rug and played with the baby, although Phil kept insisting that it was time to go. One thing after another delayed us until it was nearly the middle of the afternoon before we started out again on the streets. The old woman pinned Elsie's shawl around her more comfortably, kissed her on each cheek, and told Phil to hurry home with her, that it was getting too cold to be wandering around, standing on street corners. She watched us out of sight. As soon as we had turned a corner, Phil looked ruefully into Elsie's empty cup. "If I had known she was going to give us the milk and pie, I wouldn't have bought the buns," he said. "We haven't made much headway, and it gets dark so soon, these days. I'm afraid the feather fooled us about the way to go." We wandered on and on all the rest of that long afternoon, sometimes playing before every door, and sometimes walking blocks before stopping for a performance. Phil's new shoes tired his feet until he