The meetinghouse was in brattle Street, close by the barracks.
Member of the company of cadets, and a deacon of brattle Street church.
brattle, writing on the eighth, had not heard any thing of the kind.
When Mr. Fenwick entered the kitchen, Mrs. brattle was sitting there alone.
But now the day was coming on, and brattle seemed to be as far from yielding as ever.
Then he paused, and walked on, and Mr. brattle was still at his elbow.
If it had not been for this, Mrs. brattle would, I think, have sunk under the load.
Fenwick heard the words, but Mrs. brattle did not hear them.
"She has gone away, Mrs. brattle," said he, with as sad a voice as ever a man used.
We must think no more about her, Mrs. brattle—at any rate for the present.
