" "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. “What did you say?” “Well, I considered myself justified in denying it,” Anna answered drily. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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