THAT GIRL of JOHNSON S
By JEAfi KATE LVDLVW.
Author 0/ "At a Girl's Mercy, * Etc,
Entered According to Act of Congress in the Ye.ir l^X) b? Street A Smith,
In the Othce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. D. C.
CHAPTER XXII.—Continued.
"Yes,” he said, gently, “I know he is
dead, Dolores, but after death all
things are made straight. He knows
now better than he ever could have
known from your telling, and I know
ho has forgotten ti3.”
There were sweetness and solemn
ity in the young man's voice as he
bent above the beautiful cold face that
caused Dora to catch her breath in
sudden comprehending of the depth
of the kindly heart, as he slowly re
peated, the touch on the girl’s hands
very tender, the light in the loving
eyes entering into her very sotil;
“ ‘There Is no death. What seems so is
transition:
This life of mortal breath
Js but a suburb of the life elyslan.
Whose portal we call death.’
CHAPTER XXIII.
"That Girl cf Johnson’s.”
Dora was standing at the well at
Dolores’ old home with her husband,
waiting for Dolores and Charlie Green,
tvho had gone at the girl's request to
the opposite mountain. It was a
strange freak of Dolores’, but with the
usual simple acquiescence in any wish
of hers they hod gone, and here Dora
and her husband were waiting for their
return at the girl's old home.
But it was not the home of the
girl’s remembrance. The garden was
in fine order and the fence well built;
’no longer did the gate swing on its
rusty, rickety hinges. The enterpris
ing chickens were scratching among
the shrubs at the back of the house,
but not a chicken dared show its face
at the front of the neat little house
where Jim Ixidie and Cintiiy lived—
the two young pepolc who had always
had a kindly thought for its former
mistress.
Dora was standing at the w’ell
watching her husband as he swung
the bucket down among the cool
shadows, her sweet face, grown more
womanly and holding a deeper mean
ing in every delicate line. She stood
on tiptoe to look down and follow tlio
flight of the bucket, but even standing
bo she scarcely reached to his shoul
der. She turned her pretty head on
one side as a bird might do, and said,
with an air that convulsed her hus
band, though there was a deeper and
more tender meaning to her words
that ho would not let her know he un
derstood.
“The course of true love never did
run smooth—and look at that poor
bucket, Hal. You are fairly beating
the life out of it against the sides of
the well.”
“Poor thing!” said the big fellow, In
a tone that implied scant sympathy for
the luckless bucket. “You had better
say that Charlie is eating his heart
out because your cousin will not love
him, Dot. Is she never going to be
good to him for his faithfulness, dear?
He deserves a good life and a good
woman, Dora; even your cousin cannot
deny that.”
“Don’t talk of Doric as though she
were heartless, Harry,” Dora said,
solftly, with one of her swift wistful
glances up to his face. “Lorie is not
like other girls.”
The other two having passed down
out of the settlement, followed by the j
half scornful eyes of the men at the
tavern, crossed the rotten bridge over
the river and ascended the opposite
mountain slowly among the bent
bushes and mysterious mists that
held in their hiding the snares of
death and the pitfalls that lay in wait
ing.
"Thar goes thet gal o’ Johnsing’s.”
Tqjn Smith said, with a rough break
of laughter in his deep voice. “What
en ther world slio's goin’ ower yander
fer beats me holler.”
“Goin’ ter say her prayers ower her
feyther’s grave, I reckon,” joined in
Hiram Sadler, coarsely, but the an
swering laughter on Smith’s lips never
passed them as Jones turned his indig
nant eyes upon them, removing his
pipe from his lips to make reply.
“Et ’pears to me,” he said, slowly,
with an emphasis that hushed their
mirth, “thet ye might hev gained a
mite o’ respec’ an’ kindly feelin’ arfter
all these years sence Johnsing died.
“Lorie Is not like other girls."
Et do ’pear ter me ’t ye might keep
yer mouth shot ef ye ken only say
sech spiteful thengs. Ise only got
these ter say ter ye, Sadler, an’ ter ye.
too, Smith—ef ye kyan’t say kind
thengs o’ the gal o’ Johnsing's arfter
all she’s done as’ ’s still doin’ fer us
i ye ain’t so welcome ter this tav'n as
ye were. An’ ye ken take et as ye
will. Thct's all I've got ter speak, an’
now my mind’s bettor’n when I sot
hyar list’nin’ ter yer men talk.”
A flush came even through the tan
of rough Sadler's face, and Smith
shuffled his feet upon the gravel and
knocked the ashes from his pipe as he
said slowly:
‘‘Thanke ’ee. Jones. Wes been frien’s
nigh onter fo’ty year, an' fer my part
I ain’t a-goin’ ter ’low sech triflin’
words ter kem atween we. Hyar’s my
hand on’t. I ain’t mebby so onfrien’l
to'rd D’lores es ye 'pear ter thenk.
Wes all say thengs’t wes don't mean,
an’ mebby thet's ther way of us. Eh,
Sadler?”
Sadler node’er bis grisly head slow
ly. He wasn’t so frank spoken as
Smith nor perhaps so kind-hearted un
der his rough speech. Smith said
many rough things, but he would have
done much also.
And young Green, holding Dolores’
warm hand closely In his to assist her
up the rough, seldom trodden path un
der the bending houghs and ghastly
mists, was thinking of the many years
she had lived there in the stolid set
tlement with not one friend in all the
world save, it might be, the rough, un
spoken kindliness of Jim Lodie and
Cinthy. And with his kindly eyes up
on the grave, beautiful face he could
but wonder how such a life could yield
such a marvel of womanliness and
tenderness.
It was a etrange freak of hers, no
doubt, this wish to once again stand
upon the brink of her father's death,
but how could ho, loving her, dissuade
her from a desiro so intense as this
was shewn by the pleading of the dark
eyes? And so they had come, and,
standing in the very place where she
stood years before, with the misty,
mysterious gulf at her feet and the
broken glimpses of blue heaven
through the floating mist, a touch of
grief and pleading and tenderness
came over tho pure, pale face that
caused this man, loving her. to bow his
head as one involuntarily bows the
head before the chancel with the
touch of an indescribable holiness
brooding above. And he removed his
hat, standing so, with his hand upon
her round arm as she stood immova
ble searching the terrible death below
her, as though for the solving of the
bitterness of her life, as though for
the solving of her own harsh heart
lessness In accusing her father when
none other save tho man at her side
end others with wicked intent, charged
him with crime. And there was an
agony dawning over the pallid face
and wide eyes that hushed all other
thought for the time In the heart of
her friend—all thought save an Intense
desire and longing to take her into
his arms and soothe this agony of bit
terness and shield her all her life
long from any touch of pain, any touch
of life’s harshness. But he waited si
lently with' bent head, his hand upon
her arm, while she fought—and won—
perhaps a struggle that few are called
upon to fight, that few would con
quer. Then the eyes, widened with
agony, were lifted from the depths of
horror and mystery seeking the brok
en bits of blue heaven through the
mist of the tangled pines upon the
height, and an indescribable grandeur
and beauty gradually grew upon the
lifted face and in the depths of the
grave eyes as though the peace sought
had been won, and the bitterness of
years was buried never again to be
resurrected in all the life before her,
never again to shadow, as it had done,
the love and life of this friend beside
her. And lie, guessing in part the
thoughts in her heart, made no move
ment save a more tender hold upon
the steady arm he held. And he waited
for her to speak.
All her life passed her in review as
she stood there conscious even though
the bitterness of this warm, kindly
friend at her side—all the bitterness
and pain and humiliation and struggle
of her life, all the thoughts and sor
rows and struggles, and when at last
she turned facing this friend, the
change upon her face was as though
an angel had touched her standing
there, and life’s suffering had passed
from her, life's struggles and pain, and
left only the touch of heavenly fingers
upon the eyes and mouth.
One of li^r slow, radiant smiles
broke the sadness of her face as she
laid her hand upon the hand on her
arm as she said softly, a new intona
tion even in the low voice:
“You mustn’t be so good to me,
Charlie; I ought, to suffer alone some
times. You cannot realize how much
I deserve it.”
He laid his other hand warmly over
this soft hand on his arm, a new light
on his face, and in his eyes that
caused a sudden drooping of the face
in the light of the sunset.
“You deserve to suffer!” there was
an intensity in his voice born from
watching the suffering on her face,
and from the suffering In his own soul.
“You deserve to suffer, Dolores John
son! If there Is need for your suffer
ing how much more Rhould I suffer
who was equal with you in thinking
the unkind theugha? Come away
from this terrible place, Dolores—
leave all these old bitter memories
here in the weird shadows and mists j
only fit for them, and give your life I
to my keeping, tell m» you love me as
1 love you—give me the answer to the
I
question I asked so long ago. Lorie,
under the light of your heavens, un
der the tender light of your stars ere
you left me for your new life and pos
sible forgetfulness.”
She met h!s eyes gravely and square
ly, though the new light of tendernesi
was still in them as she said, slowly,
with almost her old slowness:
‘‘The happiness of a man's life does
net altogether depend ca the love of
a woman, Charlie.”
“To a great extent, darling.”
“But even If I should tell you 'no,'
you would be happy after a while,
Charlie. Time heals everything.”
“Not everything, Lorie.”
“Yes, everything,” she said, decid
edly. “You know that time heals ev
erything, Charlie—even the old pain
of unforgiveness.”
“Hush!” he said, swiftly, and his
hands on both her arms as he held
her facing him, were tremtding with
the wish to hold her free from pain.
“You are never to say such things
again, dearest. I^et those things pass.
You have suffered enough for them,
and God will lay His great tenderness
over them.”
She was silent a moment, as though
reading his Inmost thought, the lifted
eyes grave and searching and tender
Then she turned from the gruesome
chasm buried at her feet in its treach
“I am sure I want you/’
erous shroud of mist, and said, softly,
with a tenderness that touched him
deeply:
“God Is very good, Charlie. I can
not doubt his tenderness. All my life
I will leave In his hands as you say—
all my life, past as well as future."
Then presently she added:
“Let us go, Charlie. I leave here
burled in the heart of His mountains
the bitterness that has shadowed not
only my life but the lives of those
who lovo me. The mountains are His
and my life Is His."
But as they paused for an instant
on the rotten brii;-.e with the waters
sobbing at their feet, black with the
slime and smoke of the town, she laid
her hand earnestly upon his arm, and
, lifting her grave faco to his, flushing
with its new tenderness, she added,
softly:
"You have been so good to me al
ways, Charlie! Are you sure—sure
you do want nobody but that girl of
Johnson’s? I come with empty hands,
you know."
Ho smiled into the quivering face
and wide, searching eyes and he an
swered her, taking her two hands in
his closely as though he would never
again let them go from him:
“I am sure, sure that I want you,
Dolores Johnson, more than any wom
an in God’s beautiful world. Your
hands may be empty hands, but they
are beautiful in the work they do a'nd
have done for others, for even these
cruel people here who would havo
ruined your sweet life, and the woman
who, now your uncle’s wife, would
have stained her hands forever for tho
darkening of your heart.”
And what could she say? And tho
lights of the sunset were very tender
over them as they crossed the bridge
and passed up along the road through
the settlement where the changes ol
her working had given an air of neat
ness and home life and widening ol
view, with its school and church and
kindly touch of neighborliness; and as
they passed the tavern where Jones
and his comrades still sat with theli
pipes In lazy enjoyment, the men gave
greeting with a now touch of kindli
ness that went to the heart of the
girl who had lived her twenty years
among them uncared for and unloved.
And the eyes of her lover were bril
liant w-lth the depth of his thought
for her, and his arm was strong to
guide and guard her through any pah;
the future might bring, and never
again could this pale, beautlfuPgirl of
Johnson’s Buffer alone or bear her
life’s burdens outside of the palo of
tenderest love.
(The End.)
Possibilities of Radium.
Mr. Hammer, who xvas formerly u
coadjutor of Edison, has produced
with radium a partial paralysis of the
fish known as tho electric ray, so thar
It could give no further shocks. Ho
has, with the radium, paralyzed small
(1e!i so that they have been drowned,
or at least died. In talking of this ex
periment, Mr. Hammer called atten
tion to the experiments of Prof. Curio
and others recently in Paris, in whlcn
guinea pigs, mice and rabbits were
paralyzed and later killed by placing
radium near th« spinal column. “It
is perfectly reasonable to suppose,"
said Mr. Hammer, “that reople*
brains might be paralyzed by putting
powerful radium near their heads, say
on a pillow at night, or near the spinal
cord, and thus produce paralysis as
in the cast of the animals.”
This accuracy rerine
department is far co
operation in informa
tion on the enemies
of easy errors a nil
friends of forethought,
to Tulare mutually ex
pensive mistakes, ft is
for mechanical, com
mercial ami profes
sional people; the in
dividual employer,
employe and customer; and consists of extracts
taken by jnrmission from the copyrighted letters,
the lectures, notebooks and libraries of Hart if.
J'ratt, ikik Park. Illinois, He is hunting the
whole world over for information of every day
use to you, ami he regrets his inability, jtersonally
to reply to contributors. So far as possible he
withes to have in this space the very idea you
would like to find here, l oa are at liberty to send
Mm any suggestion you may care to. His collec
tion was started in IH13 and now contains un
published information dating back to n»v, with
systematic plans extending to 19bi. Your short
story of sorts example of forethought given to
him may prove to be your moet valuable gift to
others.
Forethought can
be grown like wheat
after we know how.
A HUNDRED-DOLLAR DINNER.
A couple of years ago' there came to
me a beautifully printed invitation
reading as follows: “The committee
of management requests the pleasure
of your company at dinner on Thurs
day evening. Important plans will be
presented relating to the approaching
celebration.” 1 wer.t, L saw and was
conquered. The banquet was in the
interest of an old debt. During the
dramatic appeals and after the many
courses of gastric cndnngerers, I re
marked that I thought the friends of
my department weuld give them a
hundred dollars. The two secretaries
in charge of the subject replied that
they would help me if necessary get
that amount.
Failure.
By experience I found my plan for
getting the money did not work. One
young man told mo that I would be In
better business if 1 were collecting
money for the debt on his new house.
Nearly every one seemed to think I
was holding him up.
Then came the following: “I am in
structed to write you with reference
to your pledge of or.e hundred dollars.
I shall be glad to have an expression
from you within a few days so that 1
may report to the committee. We are
In special need of funds at present,
and of course nothing would be more
acceptable than the money. Very
truly yours. Secretary.” To which I
replied: “The plan 1 had for getting
that hundred dollars has been rattled
and it is not wise for me to promise
when i can pay it, though 1 have not
abandrned It.”
Trouble.
When the secretary saw me he twit
ted me of repudiating my signature.
At another time I hinted that he was
using the lowest form of commercial
promotion, jollying. In securing signa
tures. We had plenty of arguments
pro and con. Finally we decided that
he should write me a letter such as he
thought that I should have written
him, and then I should reply to it as I
thought he should have written me.
Th'- is what he sent me: “Mr. Secre
tary: Dear Sir—I write you concern
ing the pledge I made to give or raise
one hundred dollars toward removing
the floating debt. When 1 made this
pledge, about a year ago, I thought I
had a plan whereby the amount could
be easily secured. The plan has
fallen through, however, and I only
succeeded in getting three dollars. 1
regret very much that I am unable to
comply with the conditions of my
pledge and must confess somewhat to
a feeling of chagrin that I have fallen
so far short of meeting my obligations.
I still consider myself bound to keep
the agreement, however, although I am
obliged to ask you to g.-ant me an ex
tension of time, ft is impossible for
me to say just when f will secure the
money but as I am troubled very much
about *hc matter you may be sure that
it is my purpose to do this work at the
earliest possible moment. Please tell
me what you think of this, and I
should also be grateful for any sug
gestions you may make as to how I
could go about raising such a sum of
money. I have not had much experi
ence soliciting money and not being
very well acquainted with your work
and the reasons why business men
should contribute to it, 1 found myself
handicapped to a considerable extent.
Trusting you will appreciate the spirit
in which 1 write this letter, 1 remain,
very truly yours.”
The Other Letter.
In the sample letter 1 sent him there
were blank spaces left for special In
formation for me from him. The fol
lowing is the complete letter: “Dear
Sir—Your favor of the 6th Inst, con
cerning your pledge of one hundred
dollars to the debt fund is received.
\ve—are simply experiencing what
many others tynve been through, and 1
am as anxious to assist you in making
your plan to secure one hundred dol
lars succeed as 1 am to get tho one
hundred dollars. In reply to your
question concerning the Indebtedness
which now rests upon us tho most of
which Is funded, would say this was
created as follows: The present
building was erected on the site of the
old building. During Its erection our
work was Interrupted and the membcr
ihip greatly reduced as there were few
privileges to offer. We entered the
new building with floating billr,
amounting to $5,000 and an additional
indebtedness of $5,000 was at once in
curred in the purchase of equipment.
l)uring tho next two years the work
was conducted on a scale commensur
ate with the plant. Owing to the
hard times the membership was not as
large as expected and there was a def
icit in two years of an addilional $7.
500. Every year since then wo have
paid all bills, Including the interest on
this indebtedness, which we are now
undertaking to remove. Your under
standing that tho payments were due
when all had been secured must have
resulted from a lack of sufficient ex
planation, which I very much regret.
The Agreement in tho subscription
book which you signed Is certainly
very clear on this point. The wording
of this agreement is as follows: 'We,
tho undersigned, hereby agree to give
or raise the sums set opposite our re
spective names toward a fund of $17,
500 for liquidating tho entire floating
indebtedness of - and we guaran
tee the payment of the sums in equal
installments on the following dates:
-,-,-,-While
this is practically the same as a non
interest bearing note very few regard
it In the same way and as a matter of
fact we would not undertake to collect
by legal means in a case like this. But
we need not talk about the negative
sid » of this question; you are going to
got that money and if wo can help you
as .veil as we would like to you are
going to make your original plans
work successfully. It Is easier to get
money for some things than for an old
debt, wh'ch is like burying an old
horae. Nevertheless It Is something
which ought to ho done and wo can
never he truly successful as long as
this indebtedness hangs as a millstone
around our neck. There are men who
like tackling difficult Jobs and con
quotiug them. Regarding the rea
sons why business men should sub
scribe to our work the following seem
to me among the best: First, next to
the church and the home it Is a great
moral force in the community, the
value of whoso restraining and up
building it is impossible to overesti
mate.
Commercial Value.
Every business man should have a
part In maintaining such a work. Sec
ond it Is a work of prevention, an
ounces of which we are told is worth
a pound of cure. Most business men
prefer to give ten dollars to keep a
young man from going wipng than
to he taxed a hundred dollars for
taking care of litm after he has gone
wrong. That kind of a proposition
appeals to a business man. Third, it
provides a suitable place for young
men to spend their leisure hours. An
employer of young men Is not wor
ried about the honesty, sobriety and
faithfulness of those employes who
he knows are members of our work,
and spend their leisure time at our
building. They are anxious about
the young men who patronize ques
tionable resorts and lead a life where
the temptation to live beyond one's
means is often responsible for loss by
tlieit nnd defalcation. Those men
know this and spend much money for
private detectives to study tho habits
of their trusted employes to find out
Just how they spend their time and
money. Finally, as to the methods of
soliciting, I would say It Is best to ask
for what you would like and take what
you can get. Most solicitors make a
mistake by not asking for a largo
enough sum and in a way that sug
gests (hat they ure extending a priv
ilege rather than asking a favor, or
perpetrating a hold up. Try to find
men who have money and who are not
common marks for every one with a
subscription paper. It is better and
more economical to cultivate a few In
telligent givers for largo amounts
than a great number of givers for
smaller sums. The whole question of
getting a man to give money is an ex
tremely difficult one. Scene men seem
to be naturally endowed for this work,
but it is also clear that others can
acquire it. 1 an; confident that If you
do not consider yourself in the first
clars you will soon be numbered
among the second- Very truly yours,
Secretary." What might have caused
us to lorever disrespect each other
may on this plan of exchanging let
ters prove mutually helpful and en
cou ago us to do what we want to da
CORRECTING ERRORS.
-.
"Let mud dry before brushing it off
from your clothing.”
Thi^s sentence is lrom Spurgeon, I
believe, and as near as I can give it.
My friend the desk editor of a trade
magazine and the bookkeeper were
just discussing correcting errors. The
booukeeper thinks you are likely to
make things worse by paying atten
tion to errors. There is certainly a
right time to do it if it is to be done.
The editor recently got a sarcastic
letter from a man to whom he had
written a polite inquiry regarding an
office error. The bookkeeper thinks it
is best to ignore errors all you can. If
they are likely to cause trouble if not
corrected it seems to me the right
time and method should be found for
correction. The bookkeeper says tlfat
casing attention to errors is likely to
cause coolness which would not other
wise occur.
Hut by not correcting some errors
you are likely to cause something
worse than coolness That Is what 1
thiak—what is your opinion?
; .?.• , t ^' ;•
T Irst chapters of
A. L. Harris’ most
powerful novel
me FATAL
REQUEST
Or. FOUND OUT
will be published
In these columns
NEXT WEEK
Don’t miss the beginning
of this fascinating story
TONIC WAS TOO POPULAR.
Why Farmer Quit Mixing Wild Cher
riee and Whisky.
“The wild cherry gathering that haa
heen in order during the past month
for the purpose of making wine," re
marked the old lady with a good mem
ory, .V"reminds me of my childhood on
my grandfather's farm. There was
especial excitement at this season of
the year, for wild cherry meant that
he whole family, together with hired
helpers, went out to the wild cherry
frees either to work or enjoy the ex«
tttemcnt. The men carried an im*
mense sheet made for the purpose
and spread it under a tree, ‘an’ our
hired man,’ as James Whitcomb Riley
poetically puts it, would climb the
tree wjd shako from it a veritable
shower of the small, dark fruit. Oh,
no, it wasn’t for wine. Happily, my
grandfather lived in a malarial dis
trict, where a good, sharp tonic was
necessary the year ’round, so these
cherries were dumped into a barrel
of whisky, which was presently con
torted into so efficacious a tonic that
As a wonder the cellar stairs weren’t
worn out during the winter. I must
say, in Justice to my grandfather,
however, that, noting the effect the
’tonic’ had upon his men, he not only
turned his back on whisky and gave
the birds carte blanche in the wild
cherry trees, but he absolutely re
fused to Bell his barley crop to a brew
er, whatever this particular principle
might coat him.”
MEDICAL THEORY IN INDIA.
Simp!* Rule* by Which Practitioner
Wa* Guided.
While In the city last week, Dr.
Bertha Caldwell of India told some
anecdotes of the doctors of that coun
try. One day she was riding In the
cars with a Mohammedan doctor. She
asked him what kind he was -an allo
pathist, a homeopathist, or an osteo
path. He answered: “I don’t know.”
Dr. Caldwell asked him how l.e prac
ticed and what kind of medicine he
gave. Opening up a box he carried,
he exhibited seven bottles containing
liquids of all colors of the rainbow.
"You see,” said the Mohammedan
doctor, “fever makes the patient red,
and then I give him red medicine. A
cold makes him blue, and then I give
him blue medicine. If he is bilious
he Is yellow, and then I give him yel
low medicine.” And thus he went on
to the end. She remarked: “You
must be a homeopathist."
“Imagine my amusement,” said Dr.
Caldwell, “when, on walking down tho
street the next day, I saw this sign int
front of the doctor’s door:
:. :
: “Gee-ul-wbiz, Servant of God. :
: :
: “Homeopathist." * :
: :
—Pittsburg Post.
in hasteTtoTverify ARTICLE.
But Newspaper Reporter Was Late In
Arriving.
When New York reporters went to
Westchester last week to ask the Rev.
Dr. Richard Mattice, a Presbyterian
clergyman there, whether it was true
that he had resigned from a co-opera
tive grocery store, run in connection
with his church, the clergyman said;
"Yes, it is true, and I am glad you
came to verify the rumor before pub
lishing it. I had a different experi
ence with the secular press when I
started the co-operative store. One
of the religious papers printed an
elaborate article about the venture,
with pictures. When the edition was
about exhausted a reporter from the
paper came to see me about it, and
sat while 1 read the article through.
“Well," he asked, "is it correct?"
“H—m, yes," I replied; "there are
a few mistakes, but—"
"It is correct in substance, isn’t
it?” he interrupted. "You have really
started a co-operative store?'
“Oh, yes," I said, "that one fact is
true.”
"Well, I am glad of it,” he conclud
ed. “Our paper likes to get things
straight, and goes to a great deal of
trouble to verify an article. I shall be
grateful if you will mention that fact
to your congregation.—New York
Times.
Believes in Physical Training.
The duchess of Marlborough be
lieves strongly in physical training for
children and her own two sons, the
marquis of Blanford and his little
brother, Ivor Charles, are undergoing
a courso of instruction daily at Blen
heim palace.
Fortunate.
Percy—I—aw—wondah why Miss
wmsom is—aw—always out when I
call?" /
Jack—Oh, that girl was born under j
i lucky star. f
Mi
f >'
