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The Daily Dispatch: October 21, 1861., [Electronic resource], Late Northern war News. (search)
uld call him. Her heart fluttered while she waited, but her resolution did not fail her. "Ah! it is my little Theresa;" and Monsieur B took her hand kindly. "Good morning, dear. Come to have your ringlets dressed for the ball to-night erview with the judge. As soon as it was granted, he told him all Marie's distress, and the generous kindness of little Theresa. "Poor child! good child!" said his listener, wiping his glasses. "She must go to prison, I suppose; but it shallel." And two hands were laid upon her head, and tears and smiles were strangely mixed together. "What does it mean, Theresa?" and the mother looked wonderingly at her beautiful little daughter, as she came into the parlor, in obedience to a mesich he sat, and quietly nestled at his feet. "Yes, my dear, see!" and he took from his pocket a shining pair. "Theresa, what means this?" the mother spoke sternly. "I have sold my hair to him, mamma, and he is come to cut it off."