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SANDERSVILLE GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 26, 1873
friend. I cannot talk mucli with you
now; but another time I will tell
you what I wish you to do when I am
gone. Come and lie down with me,
.precious darling little sister, and
don’t sob so wildly, dear one. There,
go to sleep, love,” and she gathered
the sobbing child to her bosom, and
soothed her as a mother would her
frightened, suffering babe.
It was broad daylight when Alice
awoke. She was very stiff and cold
and looked about for Jenny. She
seemed to be kneeling by the bed
side, but when Alice spoke, there
was no answer. The face was col
orless as marble, and a sweet smile
wreathed the thin white lips. She
seemed to have risen at night for the
little cup of water, and to have died
as she knelt to breathe a prayer to
the kind Father, who in love gather
ed her into his glorious fold, where
cold and hunger and pain and sor
row are forever strangers.
A pine coffin and a quick rattling
of the cart over the stones to a pau
per’s burial place. No one heeded
it, except one breaking heart which
flung itself upon the rough box, and
shrieked as they tore her from it.
It was all over, and little Alice
found herself homeless and friend
less in the great bustling city. She
was almost stupified by grief, and
almost unconsciously she wandered
to the market near the river, and
stopped to warm her fingers at a
little charcoal furnace. A stout Jer
sey farmer was standing near, dress
ed in a shaggy “great coat,” with a
woolen comforter about his neck.—
He made room for her beside the
fire, and looked compasionately on
her thin, old dress and shivering
frame. His big, brown hand brought
out a rosy-cheeked apple from his
overcoat pocket, which he gave to
Alice. The tears came in the eyes
of the poor, famished child, as she
eagerly took it, exclaiming, “Oh
thank you, thank you, sir.”
It was eaten quickly, and the far
mer, who had watched the process,
said—
“I wish I had another tor you, lit
tle girl, 3 r ou seem to like apples so
well. Your folks should not let you
come out such a cold day with them
on, and no shawl nei-
MEDLOCK. JETHRO AP.LINE. R.L. RODGERS.
5IedJ«c3i» Arlisie <& Rodgers.
store, near by, where he bought a
warm woolen shawl, a knitted hood,
and fleecy lined gloves, which he
and learn to love Ae a little, won’t
you?” pleaded Frank, boldly throw
ing one arm around her, and draw
ing her down by his side.
“I’m afraid I have learned that
already.” whispered she, frankly.
And then—but neither you nor I,
dear reader, have any businiss listen
ing to love secrets in the fire-lighted
library, so I won’t tell you what,
then. But I will tell you, that when
the next New Year’s came, Frank
and the bewitohing widow were visit
ing at Tom’s again; but she was a
widow no longer, and they called
her Mrs. Worthington.
From the Christian Index.
“Tired to Death.”
“Oh, dear!” cried Mattie, as she
sat looking out of the window; “I
do wish the snow would melt; I’ve
b&m in the house three days now,
and I’m tired to death /”
. “I have stayed in the house three
years, Mattie, and I am not tired to
death yet.”
Mattie turned and looked at her
sick cousin Ncrah, propped up in a
chair, steadily sewing, her patient
face looking as pleasant as a spring
morning. Coming close to her, Mat-
tie asked, in a low voice, “Do please
tell me how you keep from being
tired?”
“If you will help me this after
noon, I will show you how I do it.
Are you willing to that ?”
“Yes, ma’am; if I can. • What is
it you are doing ?”
“You know Mrs. Tupper, who
washes for us, is very poor, and finds
it very hard to make a support for
her children. Mother has given me
permission to change this dress that
I wore last winter, so as to fit Myra
Tupper. You can’t help me on the
dress, but I want to make a quilt
for the little children’s bed, before
Christmas, and if you are willing to
help me about that, mother will
give you the pieces, and you may
begin now.”
“Oh! indeed I will. Aunt Emily,
do please give me some scraps, will
you ?” and she jumped up and
>ing her hands with de-
where, after nicely tucking the warm
covers all about her, with a good
night kiss, she left her to her own
thoughts. And, oh! what a confus
ion of memories rushed upon her
mind! But first, and above all others,
was the pale face of that dear, dear
sister, and she wept as if her heart
would break at the thought of never,
never seeing her again. But soon
the mood grew calmer, and then she
longed to have her sister know what
kind friends God had raisedfor,
THE BEWITCHING WIDOW,
in love with you, so you needn’t be
scared.”
“Don’t expect pie to pay attention
to her.”
“Hold on, there! She hasn’t given
you a chance yet. Kate is quite a
belle in city society, and awful par
ticular in her company. Sad dogs
like you and I wouldn’t stand a ghost
of a chance.”
“Humph! I don’t know that she
could do better!” growled Frank, in
stantly, with man’s usual contrari
ness, taking the opposite track.
“She might think so. I’m going
to the smoking car, Frank. Come
along?”
“No; I don’t care about smoking
now.”
“All right. Just look after Kate
till I come back, that’s a good fel
low.”
Now, Frank had not the least in
tention of looking after Kate, but
when he approached her seat she
looked up with such a frank, pleas
ant smile, and moved her shawl from
the opposite to make room for him
with such a cordial air, that he could
not resist the temptation to sit down
and enjoy her society. Not much of
it did he get, however, for, after the
first pleasant reception, Mrs. Kate
betook herself to her book again,
and never even looked at him. By
way of revenging himself, Frank
looked at her, and the prettier she
grew.
“She’s a widow,” he thought.
“She’s not a day over one-and-twen-
ty, if she’s that. I wonder if she is
Tom’s sweetheart.”
And strange to say, this re
flection made Frank feel-like grind
ing his teeth at the unconscious Tom,
who sat calmly smoking his cigar in
the smoking car.
The journey passed off without
any incident, and without Mrs. Kate
troubling Frank in the least for at
tention.
At the station they found Black
Boy awaiting them with a big sleigh,
and a few minutes’ breezy ride brou’t
them safely to the door of Tom’s
home. ~ .
[fraud is published in Sonclersville,
;ry Friday morning. Subscription
, 0 DOLLARS per annum,
tisements inserted at the usual rates,
arge for publishing marriages or
bade her put on.
“There, those will stand you till
we get home, and then the mother
will rig you out more comfortable.”
The child’s eyes danced with pleas
ure as she viewed the treasures; but
she could only say, with glad tears,
“O, sir, you are too good.”
“Not a bit,” laughed the good-na
tured farmer. “You are my little
girl now, and I must provide for you.”
They soon reached the covered
Jersey wagon, and lifting the little
girl in, he seated himself beside Per
drawing the buffalo robe well around
her feet. And so they rode on ; far
mer Betts chatting all th-G time wiiL.
his happy little companion, who
could hardly realize her identity.
“Then you like apples, Alice, do
you? You shall have bushels of
them this winter if you want them.
Do you like to feed chickens and
turkeys ?”
“I think I should, dearly; but I
never saw any except those in the
market.”
“Well, I never ! I guess you don’t
eat them verv often either, do 3-ou
now?”
“We have had no meat of any
kind for a long time.”
“Nomeat? Why, what did you
have for breakfast ?” .
“Only the apple you gave me, sir.”
“Why, Alice, I never heard the
like. What did you have yesterday ?”
“Only some potato and turnip spread out on theglittle table
parings I found in the street,” said
the child, modestly.
The astonished farmer gazed at
her for the first time doubtingly; but
there was no untruthfulness in those
full, candid eyes.
“Is it possible there are any peo
ple so poor? I never’ll Waste a piece
of bread again, if that’s so. I am
sorry I did not know you were so
hungry when we were in the market;
but here is a piece of bread and but
ter and cold meat I had left from my
dinner.”
The child’s hunger was keen, and
the present relief of mind made the
want doubly felt. She devoured it
hastily, despite her effort to control
herself, for “hunger knows no law.”
“Hannah will have us a good warm
supper when we get home, all ready,
J know. Skenever fails of that when
I go down to York. I guess Davy
can jog on a little faster, such good
roads,” and he gave the lines a shake,
which Davy seemed to understand
as an intimation that he might hur
ry on to his warm stable rather fast
er. An hour more and they reached
the pleasant farm-house. The good
wife, Hannah, came out to meet her
husband, and inquired, with some
surprise,
“Why, who has thee here, Wil
liam?” Fo? being a Quaker born,
she occasionally used their form of
address. Alice shrank back, a little
fearful that there would be no wel
come for her here.
A few words told the simple story,
as he lifted the child from the wagon
and placed her inside the gate. It
was enough, and the good mother’s
arms and heart opened to receive
her.
“Thee is welcome, little one. Thee
shall never want for a homo again,”
and she brought her into the cheer
ful “family room,” and placed Emi
ly’s low rocking-chair before the
bright fire for her. With gentle
hands she removed her shawl and
hood, and, when she had grown
warm and comfortable, it took but a
minute to exchange her thin, but
neat, old garments for a warm, dark
worsted suit which had belonged to
the loved and lost one.
“Just about her size,” said the
good woman, thoughtfully, “only
thinner. She would rather thee had
them than they should he idle. She
would give away all she possessed
to make any one else happier—Emi
ly would.”
The transformed child looked re
ally beautiful after having carefully
brushed her soft brown hair, and
confined it with a long circular
comb.
“I shouldn’t know her, wife,” said
Mr. Betts, as she took her seat at
the table. What a princely feast
that seemed to Alice, who had never
beheld such bounties before! What
a luxury to her, seemed even a slice
of that good home-made bread and
butter, or one of those delicious,
streaming “buckwheats!” And yet,
the ruddy boiled ham, cut in such
generous slices, the pellucid honey
fairly overflowing its waxen cells, the
light golden cup-cake, and deep glass
of spiced apples, formed only an or
dinary repast in the house of the
prosperous farmer.
W hen supper was over, little Ben
ny thought it time to wake up, and
sat on his mother’s lap while Ann
cleared away the table. The baby
soon made friends with Alice, after
the first shyness and curiosity about
the stranger had worn off, and even
suffered her to rock him a little
while in the lowing rocking-chair.
The mother knew that Alice was
wear} 7 , and showed her early to a
snug little room adjoining her own, nicious in
/ Just before dark one evening, Tom
Courtena came into the little office
jvhere Frank Worthington kept his
dusty law books, and helped himself
'to a chair and a cigar, with a quiet
make-yourself-at-home sort of cool-
POETEY,
mess which showed him no stranger
to the premises.
“Well, Frank,” said he, “we got
through the last case to-day, and I’m
ready to be off home to-morrow.
You promised to go with me, remem
ber.”
“No need to remind me of it, old
fellow,” laughed Frank. “I’ve en
dured the horrors of » boarding
house too long not to jump at the
chance of country living awhile.”
“You can be ready by morning?”
“Oh, yes. It won’t take long to
pack my ket. I haven’t any Sara
toga trunk to fill with flounces and
furbelows.”
“All right, then. We shall have a
cousin of my mother’s to go down
with us.”
“The deuce we shall! Tom, if it’s
a girl, I won’t go, by George! I got
enough of traveling with girls last
summer.”
“You will go! I will never forgive
you if you don’t.
“Is the cousin of the feminine per
suasion?”
“Yes, but she is not a girl. She
is a sedate widow lady, who goes
down to make an annual visit to us
every Christmas.”
“Oh, that alters the case. One of
those motherly, middle-aged Ladies
who make a fellow 7 look respectable,
as if he was traveling with his mother.’
Tom repressed an inclination to
laugh, and replied, soberly:
“Yes; no doubt Mrs. Cameron will
appear like a mother to both of us.”
“Mrs. Cameron; a good old re
spectable name,” repeated Frank.
“Has she any money, Tom ?”
“Well, yes, a fair little fortune.”
“And you may stand a chance in
her will?”
“Possibly.”
“Yes. Well, my boy, you are
quite right to be attentive to your
mother’s elderly relative. No doubt
Mrs. Cameron will be an addition to
our journey.”
“Decidedly,” said Tom, feeling it
about time for him to get out of that'
office, where he could indulge in a
laugh, and rising as he spoke : “Meet
us at the depot at seven in the morn
ing.”
“I will.”
“Sharp seven, remember.”
“Yes. And time and railroad cars
wait for no man or woman, either.
Depend on me, Tom, and just look
* cousin.”
A Woman's liovc.
A woman's love, deep, in tlie heart,
Is like the violet flowers:
That lifts its modest head apart,
I11 some sequestered bower;
And blest is he who finds that bloom,
Who sips its gentle sweets;
lie heeds not life’s oppressive gloom,
Nor all the care he meets.
A woman’s love is like the spring,
Amid the wild alone;
A burning wild, o’er which the wing
Of clouds is seldom thrown;
And blest is ho who meets that Fount,
lli-neath the sulty day;
IIow gladly should the mount,
How pleasant be his way ?
A woman’s love is like the rock,
That every tempest braves,
And stands secure amid the shock
Of ocean’s wildest waves;
And blest is he to whom repose
Within its shade is given;
The world with all its cares and woes,
Seems less like earth than heaven.
lier, and with the half-formed prayed
that some kind watcher-angel work'd
whisper all her happiness into ler
ty window-shade! She had never
seen such sunshine before. What a
beautiful red and white bed-cover
was spread over her! She traced
the quaint pattern out with her eyes
in childish wonder and admiraiion.
What a collection of treasures was
across
the room, a tiny work-box, a cliina
vase, a doll and doll’s bureau, with
man} 7 glittering toys which she had
never seen before, except in shop
windows! Was this really to be her
home, and this her own little room,
where she could look at, and really
handle all those beautiful things,
every day if she liked? A gentle
foot-step and a softly opened door
brought a glad answer.
“Has thee slept well, Alice? I
will help thee dress now if thee
likes to rise,” and a gentle, loving
kiss was pressed upon her cheek.
Breakfast was over, but a nice
dish of hot cream toast and leg of
broiled chicken awaited her in the
comer; and Benny sat on the floor
at her feet, laughing and playing
with blackj Bruno’s shaggy ears,
while he occasionally glanced with
his merry eye at the new found friend
of the night before.
SELECT MISCELLANY,
OUT OF THE SHADOW
BY MBS. N. M. M CONATJGHY.
Cheerless was the attic which little
Alice entered one dreary December
day, after a long walk in the icy
streets. There was no fire whatever
in the broken grate and the keen air
whistled through the fine snow on
the bare floor. But though the place
was so utterly cheerless, there was a
smile as well as a tear in .her eyes
as she answered. In that low room
was the only heart on earth that
cared for her. A loving sister watch
ed for her return, and had ever a
gentle word and a kiss for the little
one she had received from a dying
mother’s arms, and over whom she
had watched with maternal tender
ness.
Day by day she had toiled for her
support, unheeding the cruel exac
tions and often harsh words of her
steel-hearted employer. Not unfre-
quently was she kept busy until far
into the night, working costly faeries
into cloaks and mantillas to glitter
in the fashionable promenade ; think
ing sometimes, poor girl, how a sin
gle yard of that costly trimming
would bring plenty to her destitute
home. Still, she was usually con
tent with her frugal fare, for the
white wings of purity and peace
were folded in her bosom, and she
blest God that actual want had nev
er stared them in the face.
But, at length a dark .day came.
The racking cough which had so
long distressed her, became deeper
seated, and sho could no longer rise
from her bed. After the scanty earn
ings were exhausted, the few articles
of furniture were parted with one
by one, to obtain the daily loaf of
bread ; but in a little time this re
source failed, and ghastly famine
glared upon them.
To-day, little Alice had wandered
out, hoping to find a few sticks with
which to make a little blaze, and on
her return she found her sister much
weaker.
“Dear Jenny,” said the child, “I
could find nothing to eat but these
turnips and potato parings, which I
picked up in a rubbish box on the
side-walk. I have washed them
quite clean at the pump, and they
will be better than nothing. I eat
some of these turnip chips raw, I
was so hungry, I got these few sticks
and cinders, too - from an ash-tub,
though an old woman, with a bag on
her back, beat me with her iron hook
because I took them. A policeman
saw her, and said, “Let the child
alone,” or she might have hurt me
worse, she was so angry. But poor
sister, you are almost starved to
death. I will cook these things as soon
If Frank had found Kate
Cameron pretty in her hat and trav
eling wraps, when she took them off
and showed the slight form, with its
down, clappi
light.
Yes, I will help you all I can, to
do good. Go up into - your Cousin
Tom’s room, and in the closet , you
will find a bundle of pieces.”
The child skipped up stairs, and
soon returned with the bundle, roll
ing it down the steps before her,
saying it made a nice ball. Her
cousin cut the pieces, and showed
her how to put them together, and
she sewed away, chatting merrily all
the while, to aunt and cousin, of
what she meant to do for the poor
children.
“Come, Mattie, it is time for you
and Norah both to put up your
work. You have worked steadily
for three hours, besides, it is nearly
night.”
“Oh, Aunt Emily ! is it ? "What a
short evening! it don’t seem like I’ve
been sewing five minutes!”
“Are you tired to death now, Mat-
tie?” ,
“Oh, no! Cousin Norah. Now I
see how you keep from being tired.
You are always busy, and that makes
the time pass away fast.”
“Yes, fast and pleasantly. If I
do’not have something to do for my
self, I can find plenty to do for those
who need it; and I have found, by
experience, that there is a great
deal of pleasure in doing something
for somebody in need. I ^suppose
you are willing to help me with this
quilt till it is finished?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m so glad you
showed me how to keep from being
tired. The snow may stay on the
ground ever so long; I won’t mind
it. And oh, aunt!” she continued,
throwing her arms around her aunt’s
neck, “do please say yes. When I
get the quilt done, will you let Hes-
graceful curves and arches, he
thought her bewitchfng. Of course,
he didn’t care anything about her;
but, some way, it was a great relief
to find a certain little Minnie Brown,
who Was one of the Holiday party,
unmistakably occupying the position
of Tom’s sweetheart, and putting
Kate out of the question.
Before they had been there three
days Frank began to have an un
comfortable sensation under the left
side of his vest whenever Kate was
near; and, Sunday morning, when
she came down dressed in a bewil
dering suit of blue velvet, ready for
church, he quite gave up, and owned
to himself that he loved every inch
of her, from the heels of her tiny
Ubots to the tips of her little blue
gloves.
Mrs. Kate was sharp enough very
speedily to see how the land lay,
but she never gave one sign that
she cared a straw for him, and Frank
tormented himself daily with hopes
and fears, after the usual fashion of
lovers.
The holiday visit was to close
with a grand party on New Year’s
night, and all the young people in
the neighborhood were invited in to
assist in the merry-making.
Late in the evening a silent figure
sat by the library fire, having stolen
away from the revellers below stairs
to indulge in a moment’s quiet re very.
Presently the door was softly open
ed, and the faint light glittered on
Kate Cameron’s blue robes as she
came forward and addressed the
figure in the chair:
“Why, Tom, old fellow, what is
the matter ? Have you got a fit of
the blues ? Why, dear, dear, it is
worse than I thought it was!” laugh
ed Kate. “Have you been quarrell
ing with Minnie Brown ? Tell me all
about it?” And with cousinly free
dom she laid her hand on his head.
The little hand was-quickly impris
oned and carried to the lips of the
silent figure, and then Kate stooped
and looked into the face—not of her
cousin Tom—but Frank Worthing
ton. She gave vent to *a low excla
mation, and would have fled instant
ly, but Frank took good care to hold
fast to his little white prisoner, and
detain her.
“It isn’t Tom; but don’t go,” he
pleaded. “Stay with me, Mrs. Cam
eron—dear Kate! Tom don’t love
you half as well as I do 1”
“How do you know?” whispered
Kate, shyly.
“Because Tom only loves you as
a cousin, and I—O, Kate, I love you
better than my life!”
“But you have known me such a
little while.”
“Yes; and might never have known
you at all if Tom, the blessed old
boy, hadn’t deceived me, and made
me believe it was an old lady who
was to come down with us.”.
“I know—Tom told me all about
it,” laughed Kate.
“Didhe? But you will forgive me,
Katy darling, because I love you so,
thin clothes
ther.”
Just then a coarse market-woman,
evidently in a bad humor, came
along, and giving Alice a rude push,
bade her “be off with her rags, and
not take up the room of her betters.
Watching a chance to steal some
thing from the stands, I don’t doubt ?”
she added.
The child moved slowly and tear
fully away, for the kind word and
act of the moment before, had drawn
her whole heart toward the farmer.
Poor little one ! with her loving heart
torn loose from every earthly stay,
how eargerly it caught at every straw
for support!
But the big, rough hand was
stretched out to prevent her going,
and the man drew her to his side,
saying,
“Stay here little girl, the old wo
man shall not hurt you. She is on
ly a bit fretty this morning, and
means well enough. There, Magry,
are two customers for you, be quick,
or you’ll lose them;” and the woman
stepped briskly to her place.
The farmer looked at the child in
tently, and by his kind words and
seeming interest, soon drew from
her the simple history of her sorrows;
related with all a child’s frankness.
The shaggy sleeve was drawn across
his eyes more than once as he lis
tened, and he had too honest a heart
to be ashamed of it.
When she had finished he said.
“Then you have no relations in the
city, Alice ? Nobody to look for you
home to-night ?”
“Oh, sir,” she answered, “I have
no home now. None but the sta
tion-house,” and she shuddered at
the thought of sleeping there; asso
ciated as it is in the mind of every
poor child in the city, with the idea
of drunken brawls, theft, and every
crime.
“Will you go home with me, Alice?
My Hannah will be a mother to you,
and you shall not want for anything.
It would seem most like having our
little dead Emily back again,” he
said, half to himself. “She had
And this was but the dawning of
Alice was
many bright mornings,
adopted in heart as well as in'name,
and soon grew to be the light of the
cheerful dwelling. Her mind and
heart both^expanded with hot-house
rapidity in the genial atmosphere of
love and physical comfort, and when
a few -years later, the gentle hand
which led and cared for her so kind-
little tremulous, it was
after that elderly
“I’ll do it.”
“Good-night, then.”
“Good-night, old fellow.”
And as Tom went out Frank arose
and began to put his office in order,
and make some preparations for his
Christmas journey.
He meant to be very. early next
ly grew a
“daughter Alice” who placed the
easy-chair in the cheeriest eomer
and took upon her young shoulders
all the care of the household. Never
did the farmer regret his deed of
love to the homeless orphan, but
ever regarded it as one of God’s rich
est blessings to him and his. Truly
“he who soweth bountifully shall
reap also bountifully.”
morning, but over-slept himself, and
reached the depot only five minutes
before train time.
He went hastily
into the ladies’ room, supposing Tom
would be there with Mrs. Cameron.
There was, however, but one occu
pant, a bright-faced lady, in a stylish
A Romantic Story
Something of
w a romance e con
nected with the recent return to
Mrs. Bucknor, the wife of General
S. B. Bnckner, the ex-Confederate
general, of Kentucky, of a certain
large property, which, when the war
broke out, she had conveyed to
her brother. When General S.
Bf. Buckner entered the Confederate
service, and before Mrs. Buck
ner joined him there, she conveyed
the property to herjbrother under a
deed of trust. The young man af
terwards married, became a father
and entered the Union service. The
question now was what would be
done with the property. If he should
rtertdie or be killed without making a
coquettish black hat. She turned a
pair of saucy brown eyes upon him
as he entered, glanced around, and
beat a hasty retreat.
“Whew! what a pretty girl! Glad
I don’t have her to dangle after, and
wait on, though,” thought he.—
“Where the dickens is Tom ?”
He hunted through the crowd, and
just as the train was about starting
found Tom on the platform.
“Oh, here you are! Be quick
now!” hailed Tom. “I thought you
were about to give me the slip, after
all.”
“No danger; I slept late, that’s all.”
They went in the car, and the
ponderous wheels rolled off, and as
they opened the door Frank got a
glympse of the pretty girl with the
white plume, seated inside.
“Did your cousin come?” he asked
of Tom.
“Yes; I’ll introduce you.”
Tom marched straight down the
narrow aisle to that very girl’s seat,
away pleasantly. M. J. W.
“Now Johnnie,” said a venerable
lady to her six year-old nephew,
who was persistently denying offen
ces of which she 7 accused him. “I
know you are not tellin’ me the truth;
I see it in your eye.” Pulling down
the lower fid of the organ that so
nearly betrayed his want of veracity,
Johnnie exultdngly replied: “You
can’t tell anything about it, Aunt;
that way.”
Many young men are so improvi
dent that they can’t keep anything
but late hours.
Poor Frank! you might have
knocked him down with a knitting-
needle. But he was gentleman
was
enough to stammer some response
to the beautiful lady’s courteous
greeting, and try to recover from his
confusion as best he might.
Half an hour later he and Tom
stood together on the car platform,
and then his wrath had vent:
“Tom Courtena, I’ll never forgive
you."
“You will. I had to deceive you
so that you would not act like a fool,
and disappoint me of your visit. But
Kate will neither ©at you up nor fall
OK_*.