“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. “We were afraid that you had deserted us for good, Mr. As the night advanced, Mr. . And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. Cathy and Shari toiled over boiling pots of potatoes, candied sweet potatoes with orange rind, corn casserole, and almond green beans. " CHAPTER V.
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