Brother and Sister VIII. ‘Pitiful. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. This made the eleventh. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. Yet you knew that I was not dead. His literary instincts were reviving. “Yes, he made them all. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion.
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