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” She closed her mouth. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up.
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