That Girl of Johnson's — page 181: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

170 THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S. ceptance out of the question, because there was no excuse he could offer when they took her father from the little house, bearing him carefully to the carriage waiting for him at the gate, soft with cushions and pillows of down, to the station and the city some thirty miles below the town down the valley, with Drs. Dunwiddie and Grey and her uncle. They had everything that money could buy to gain comfort for him. <A car was reserved for him on the train; everything absolutely was done that could be for his comfort. And then they had forced upon her the accept- ance of this hospitality. She could not remain in the house alone; there was no reason why she should not go with her cousin, and as Mrs. Green, with her motherly-heart aching for the sadness of the girl’s life, refused to hear of their taking rooms at a hotel, they accepted the kindness and care and the tenderness of the judge’s home. Dr. Dun- widdie, always thoughtful, sent a message upon their ar- rival in the city, saying that Johnson was apparently all right save a little shaking up, and that one of the pleas- antest rooms at the hospital was assigned him, and he would have the best of care. Since then they had heard nothing, and now here was Dolores standing at the window waiting for young Green’s return from the office to know what message he had brought. ‘“Dunwiddie promised to send word every day,” Charlie said at dinner, ‘‘and he never breaks his word, therefore I promise you news to-night, Miss Johnson.” He never called her Dolores now. With the leaving of her old life he had left off the kindly uttering of her name and brought the conventionality of the new life even to that. She thought of it with a strange pain at her heart, and did not understand what it meant—this sadness upon her. Mrs. Green was watching Dolores through the open door- way, leaning back on the cushioned sofa, her soft hands folded in her lap at this her “rest time” of the day, as she listened to Mrs. Allen’s reading, her thoughts somehow Eomicbooks.co