If the reader wants to know how Michael made the desert places of the modern city and the human waste that exists therein, over into something wholesome and sane, if he would gain inspiration for social work and faith in human nature and the power of an ideal, the spiritual, let him read 'Lo, Michael! And if he or she wants fiction that leaves a sweet taste on the mental palate, without a tang of the abnormal and unwholesome, this is the book to read and enjoy. It is a thrilling romance, full of adventure and spicy with the sweetest elements of young love and noble ambition, brought to happy fruition.
into the strong red arm that held him. It was just at this critical moment that Morton entered the bath-room.
Morton was a trim, apple-cheeked Scotch woman of about thirty years, with neat yellow-brown hair coiled on the top of her head, a cheerful tilt to her freckled nose, and eyes so blue that in company with her rosy cheeks one thought at once of a flag. Heather and integrity exhaled from her very being, flamed from her cheeks, spoke from her loyal, stubborn chin, and looked from her trustworthy eyes. She had been with the bank president's baby ever since the little star-eyed creature came into the world.
"Och! look ye at the poor wee'un!" she exclaimed. "Ye're hurtin' him, Norah! Ye shouldn't have bathed him the noo! Ye should've waited the docther's comin'. Ye'll mebbe kin kill him."
"Ach! Get out with yer soft talk!" said Norah, scrubbing the more vigorously. "Did yez suppose I'll be afther havin' all this filth in the nice clean sheets? Get ye to work an' he'p me. Do ye hold 'im