"Why, of course I do, miss. See, here is the
paper."
And the little soldier lass read it: "99 Linwood
Street, Boston."
"My poor child, what a pity you did not let us see it
before!"
Alas and alas! Nora's box was of the biggest. But
the army lass flinched at nothing.
An immense wagon, with two giant horses, loaded with
the most extraordinary chests which have been seen since
the days of the Vikings. Piled on the top were many
feather-beds, and on the top of the feather-beds a
Scandinavian matron. With Mike, the good-natured
teamster, who was at once captain and pilot of this
craft, the army lass had easily made her treaty, when he
was told the story. He was to carry Nora and her outfit
to the Linwood Street house after he had taken these
Swedes to theirs. "And indade it will not be farr, miss.
There 's a shorrt cut behind Egan's, if indade he did not
put up a tinimint house since I was that way." And with
new explanations to Nora that all was right, that indeed
it was better this way than it would have been had her
brother been called from his work, she was lifted,
without much consent of her own, to the driver's seat,
and her precious "box" was so placed that she could
rest her little feet upon it.
Nora had proudly confided to the friendly lass the
assurance that she had money, had even shown a crisp $2
bill which had been sent to her for exigencies.
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