The Ragged Edge. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. Yes, there was someone there. Queer old gentleman! The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge. "Here's a cross-bite.
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