corners.

"Mother is very old," said my hostess.

"Awfully old," said my male friend, whose name proved to be Richard
Wholesome.

"Thee might think it sad to see one whose whole language has come to be
just these words, but sometimes she will be glad and say, 'Has thee a
four-leaved clover?' and sometimes she will be ready to cry, and will
say only the same words. But if thee were to say, 'Have a cup of
coffee?' she would but answer, 'Has thee a four-leaved clover?' Does it
not seem strange to thee, and sad? We are used to it, as it might
be--quite used to it. And that above her is her picture as a girl."

"Saves her a deal of talking," said Mr. Wholesome, "and thinking. Any
words would serve her as well. Might have said, 'Topsail halyards,' all
the same."

"Richard!" said Mistress White. Mistress Priscilla White was her name.

"Perchance thee would pardon me," said Mr. Wholesome.

"I wonder," said a third voice in the window, "does the nice old dame
know what color has the clover? and does she remember fields of
clover--pink among the green?"

"Has thee a four-leaved clover?" re-echoed the voice feebly from between
the windows.