Thank you. Hello everybody and welcome. What happens to the germ-killing chemicals that are added by the millions of pounds to anti-microbial and anti-bacterial consumer products? The worst-case scenario in the spirit of Murphy's Law where we have a chemical, we design it and we think it's awesome. We make millions of pounds of it and then we added to thousands of consumer products only to find out after the fact that the chemical did not serve the purpose it was added for and it turned out to be persistent and contaminating our environment, our wildlife and ourselves causing toxic effects. My team studied and found not only one such chemical, but two such chemicals. The chemicals are called trichocyan and trichocarbene. I see a bland look so you probably don't know what that means, but even if you have not heard the names of these chemicals, they are the chemicals that make our consumer products anti-microbial and anti-bacterial.  So when we wash our hands, if we wash them at all, it takes about six seconds, okay, and that amount of time on average is just too short in order to give us a benefit if anti-microbials are present in our soap. So the chemicals are rendered useless and are flushed down the drains in our kitchens and in our bathrooms. And there they go on their merry way toward the wastewater treatment plant. But sadly in the environment, once the chemicals were out there, animals were exposed for very long periods of time, even life long and for generations we found. And this we found out by looking at surface water sediments. And so by going down into the sediment core, we were able to do some time travel. And we found that organisms had been bathing in anti-microbials ever since we started producing them in the late 1950s and the 1960s. Anti-microbials don't really like water and they like to seek shelter and they seek shelter in living organisms. So it looks like we have contaminated everything. What about outer space? We had an opportunity to analyze water from the International Space Station and guess what we found in the water loop, anti-microbial chemicals. So you see we have an omnipresence of anti-microbial chemicals. We cannot escape them anymore. They are in our water, in our air, in our soil, in our food. They are in the wildlife and they are in us. But ironically they are much more effective in killing things other than microorganisms. We should call them anti-algal agents or anti-planktonic agents or fish killers. All of these names would be better than the name that we use today. So if you want to understand the life cycle of the chemicals and the toxicity, we have to look at the beginning. When we synthesize them, we already make super toxic carcinogenic toxins. They are part of the antimicrobials. And then at the end of the life cycle of the chemical, when they fall apart, one single molecule can make two carcinogens if it falls apart. But the chemicals also are toxic by themselves in their own right. And among the many effects that antimicrobials can have, the one thing that we are really concerned about is endocrine disruption. This is a scrambling of the messaging system in living organisms. Animal studies have shown that small concentrations of antimicrobials can lead to malformation of reproductive organs, lowered sperm count, spontaneous abortion, an increase in allergies, and changes in metabolism that can lead to obesity. And when microorganisms are exposed to antimicrobials and survive it, they can become tough. They can become superb bugs. And so some studies have shown that if an pathogen is exposed to triclosan, the organism gets resistant not only to the antimicrobial, but also to antibiotics, and not just one. But six, half a dozen of antibiotics that are used in clinics and hospitals around the world to prevent people from losing their limbs and lives from microbial infections. Why didn't we ban the chemicals in the first place? It turns out in the 1950s and 60s, we didn't have the right tools to fully understand the impact of these chemicals on our physiology and on the environment. And things like genome sequencing or epigenetics or even endocrine disruption weren't understood or discovered at the time. It's also true that in America we do a limited amount of testing of chemicals before they reach the market. Oftentimes the assumption is that the chemical is safe until proven harmful. In Europe, people typically do more safety testing and they have something that's called the precautionary principle which says that if something could be potentially really bad, but we don't have enough information, we much rather not use it. But on both sides of the Atlantic there is a legislative back door that allowed triclosan and triclocarbon to slip into consumer products and ultimately into our bodies. And that door is the grandfathering process. Once we make chemicals for a long time, we don't have to test them again when new regulations come out. So they are grandfathered in and they circumvent the testing that might have revealed some of their effects. How long does it take to ban a chemical? On September 2nd of 2016, the United States Food and Drug Administration announced a ban of triclosan, triclocarbon and many other antimicrobial chemicals. It has taken 14 years between our discovery of triclocarbon in urban streams in Baltimore to the ban of antimicrobials that will take effect in 2017. Today triclosan and triclocarbon are the top 10 pollutants of our drinking water resources. So soon the dark cloud of antimicrobial pollution should lift from the United States. But what about other countries? Over 200 scientists have signed our call to action, the Florence Statement on triclosan and triclocarbon. And it calls for removal of these chemicals from all consumer products where they don't have a benefit around the world. Unfortunately, my students and I, by helping to get these chemicals banned, worked ourselves out of our job. So that is actually not entirely true because there are a lot of chemicals in commercial use, actually 70,000 or so in America alone. And every year we introduce 2,000 chemicals more. So there's plenty of work to be done to scan the ever-expanding chemical horizons, to look for among this very useful and lifesaving and convenient chemistry, the few bad players that might do us in. So this is our job and we try to keep you safe and healthy. And so with this, I hope I didn't scare you too much, but I give you a little bit of appreciation for chemistry. So remember, next time when you enjoy a delicious meal, great company and maybe even love, it's all about good chemistry. Thanks for listening.


CHAPTER I. LITTLE VIOLET Everyone knew Little Violet. She sat always in a small window which projected out over the street, and her purple frock and pale face were looked for and recognized by almost every passer-by. She had sat in that curious, turret-shaped window for four years, in winter, in spring, in summer, in autumn. Other children made snowmen and pelted snowballs in the street beneath, while she looked down from above and laughed and clapped her hands. In the spring, the little ones went off by the score, and gathered yellow and purple crocuses, of which not a few found their way into Violet's lap, or loomed again in the vases which stood on the sills of the old-fashioned eight-sided window. She loved to have those flowers, and took them from the children's hands with her brightest and most grateful smile. Later on they brought her violets, sweet wood violets, and trailing ground ivy, but for these flowers she now had no smile, only tears, which gathered and multiplied and which would, despite all her efforts, rendound her purple dress in large bright drops. For was not she herself called Violet, and had not someone not so long ago often whispered this word to her in a voice which seemed forever in her ears?  My little Violet is sweeter to me than all the flowers in the town. And now that Violet had no mother, she could scarcely bear to look at the purple blossoms which they brought to her in bunches, and yet she put them aside, and when they were withered, treasured them all in Mother's Bible, which lay always on a little table beside her. In summer, in the gap at the far end of the street between the church and the fountain, she could always catch a glimpse of the hills, the beautiful green hills, covered with trees to the very top, and from whence in the autumn the children returned laden with nuts, baskets and satchels and boxes full, and though Violet did not eat nuts, they made tea things out of the shells, and had dull tea parties in the old turret window. A year ago she had been a very happy little girl, and although even then she could not walk, nor run, nor jump about like other children, still she never fretted about it. She had someone always with her who made the long days pass so happily that she never stopped to ask herself why she was unlike the others, or why all the neighbors as they went by looked up at her with such pity in their eyes. Only once for a few moments she had seemed to understand something about it. When little Fritz Adler, her great friend, going by riding on a stick with a horse's head attached to it, shrieked up to her from the street beneath in great pride, Ha-ha, Violet, look at me! How I can prance! Thou couldst not do so if thou triedest. I could, she shouted, buy and buy, when I can run like thee. I will ride, too. No, no, thou never wilt, screamed Fritz, giving his wooden horse a lash with his leather whip. I wanted to give thee this horse, this very one. Ella had bought thee this very whip. But mother said no, it would be folly to give thee such a present. Why, asked Violet, why Fritz, did she say that? Ah, thou knowest thou art not like other children. Why am I not like other children? Because thou canst not run or even walk about like me and Ella. Mother says thou art a little hunchback, and it would hurt thy poor back to ride in prance like this. And Fritz, again lashing his horse, began to plunge violently up and down on the pavement opposite. Fritz, what didst thou say? I am what? But he could give no answer.  Mother, what did he say I was, and why does his mother slap him? He called me a little hunchback. What does that mean, mother? Violet's mother had not been attending to the conversation. She had been working at a little white frilled pinafore for her daughter at a table near the stove, and she had just taken the crimping irons from the heart of the fire, red-hot and smoking. But when she heard these words, she dropped them suddenly on the floor, and in a moment she was on her knees in front of little Violet's chair, and covering the child's thin white hands with kisses. What does it signify what it means?  Thou art my darling, my treasure, my sweetest Violet. Thou art the most precious little girl in all the town. Somewhat amazed at her mother's sudden anguish of mind, and at the passionate way she kissed her cheeks and stroked her hair, Violet gazed at her with eyes which widened and dilated, and then she seemed for a few moments lost in thought, after which she sat in her usual quiet voice with only the faintest tinge of trouble in it. Mother dear, is this a hump I have on my back? And is that the reason why I sit in this chair and cannot walk? Dearest replied her mother almost in a whisper, my heart's love, do not fret or think any more about what Fritz said. Thou art one of God's own little children, and is not that the best thing of all? Violet nodded her head. It was a way she had of agreeing to things said to her, but still she was not quite satisfied, for after a pause she asked anxiously. But did God give me this hump, Mother? And what is in it that it pains me so? As she asked this question she gave a sudden sob, and some tears fell on the front of a pretty purple dress. Do not cry, my sweetest treasure! cried the mother, drawing the child's head down on her shoulder, and once more covering it with kisses. What does it matter what we are like here? If thou canst not walk nor run here, by and by Christ will carry my little lamb in his bosom, and if thou hast to hump on thy back now, what does it matter? Someday the good Lord Jesus will call my little one to himself, and then all the pain will be gone, and where are the poor shoulders ached so much now, thou wilt have wings, shining wings, and thou wilt never cry there any more, but always be quite happy. And Violet will have wings. Thou knowest that? said the little girl, lifting her head suddenly from her mother's shoulder, and looking earnestly into her face. Yes, darling, beautiful, shining, silver wings, and no more hump and no more pain? No more hump and no more pain replied her mother softly, and thou wilt be their dearest mother? Yes, sweetest treasure, I trust I shall be there. And father? And father also? And Fritz, will he be there? Will he not, mother? I hope so. Yes. But it was not kind of him to speak roughly to my little one.  He deserved it, replied her mother somewhat sharply. The little girl gave a long sigh, impressing one of the tears which still stood in a bright drop on the front of her dress with the tip of her finger, until it disappeared in the purple cashmere folds. She said softly, I love Fritz, I must tell him what thou hast just told me, that though I cannot run or jump like him or Ella, someday, not very far away, when the Lord Jesus calls me, I shall have wings. Is it not true, mother? Quite true, she answered with an effort, then turned quickly away towards the stove and resumed her ironing. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of An Angel's Wings This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Shasta, Oakland, California. On Angel's Wings by Louisa Lilia Spring Chapter 2 Mothers Farewell A year had flown away since that eventful day when Fritz had somewhat roughly awakened Violet to the fact that she was a little hunchback, and that she was never to run or walk like him or Ella, and now everything connected with this little life of hers was changed. The young mother, with the fair hair and the blue eyes and the warm, loving heart, had flown away before her little girl. The good Lord Jesus had called her first, and she was asleep now in the little churchyard beside the church, which stood at the end of the street. She could not shelter nor protect her little girl any more from hurtful words, nor press her to her heart to soothe the pain which they had caused her. She could not sit beside her in the window and read and talk to her till the hours flew by almost unnoticed, so that Violet often forgot that her back ached and that her legs were weary. It had come so suddenly, too, at least to Violet that was sudden. She had not noticed the short coughs or the quick breathing or the flushed cheeks, only to her eyes, her little mother, as she always called her, grew more lovely every day. But one night, when she was asleep and dreaming of a wooden go-kart which Fritz had promised to make for her the next day, her father came to her bedside and called her to awake. Violet, my darling, thou must awake. Come with me to thy mother. She is calling for thee. For me, she said, rising up with sleepy eyes and tossed hair, where is dear mother, and why does she want me in the night? Her father stooped down over the bed and lifted her up in his arms very gently, for it hurt her to lift her up quickly or roughly, and without answering her, he carried her through the doorway into the inner room. Mother, dear, why dost thou want me in the night? asked Violet, sleepily stretching out her arms toward the bed in which her mother lay. Is it night, she replied in a voice which sounded quite strange to the little girl's ears. John, where is my darling? I cannot see her. Put her here, close beside me. There, sweetest one, lay thy head on mother's breast.  What ails, sweet mother, she said softly, aren't thou sick?  Mother must say adieu to her poor sick darling, but father will love thee, oh so well. Is it not so, beloved? Thou hast always been better to her than many mothers. Yes, yes, he said huskily, never fear, thou knowest, that I love her. And by and by she will follow me to heaven. Is it not so, John? She will be glad to find me there.  Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, cried the poor mother, clinging to the little white figure, as John lifted her from the bed. When Violet has wings, she will fly to her dear mother in heaven. Will she not? Yes, replied Violet, her face brightening up with a broad sweet smile, as her father lifted her in his arms, and she veined her cheek against his. Beautiful silver wings, but mother must not go to heaven tonight, for tomorrow, Fritz, is to bring me my cart, and mother has promised to put a cushion in it, and wheel Violet round the room.  Violet did not hear anything more. She looked for some time at the beautiful purple sky outside, filled with thousands of shining stars. She saw the roofs of the houses with their pointed gables, and on the top of the chimney opposite, she could see the gray figure of a stork standing upright in the starlight beside its nest. She felt sad at first, and trembled a little. She did not know why, for why had her mother called her in the middle of the night, and said, Goodbye to her. Where was she going? She had never gone away anywhere from her before, and tomorrow she had promised to give her that bride in Francis' cart, and to tell her again that story about the cruel tailor who ran his needle into the elephant's trunk, and Violet smiled and forgot her troubles as she remembered how the elephant filled his great trunk at the gutter, and splashed it all over the tailor as he sat cross-legged at his work in the open window, and soon her mind, growing more composed, and somewhat tangled with sleep, she thought she heard the tailor crying somewhere outside in the street. She did not like to hear him sobbing, and every time she looked up, the elephant was still shooting up water into the air, but the bright drops which she saw were the stars still twinkling on the dark background of the sky, and the sobbing came from the next room where her father was kneeling, broken-hearted, by the bedside, on which her little mother lay dead. Please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Shasta, Oakland, California. On Angels Wings by Louisa Lilias Green, Chapter 3, A Sad Discovery. It was not for many days that Violet understood that her mother was really dead. Perhaps, indeed, she did not quite understand it for many months to come. It seemed so strange to her that, in the morning when she opened her eyes, her father was boiling the kettle on the stove, and arranging the little wooden tray, which was always laid on her bed with her morning meal, hot and tempting, placed upon it. It was he too who, lifting her gently up, placed the pulls behind her poor tired shoulders, and propped up her back so that she could sit forward and eat her egg, and the sweet rolls which the baker sent across the street every day, fresh and smoking, for her breakfast. Where is mother? She asked each morning with a little sorrowful smile, for her father was so good and kind, and he sat so patiently beside her bed, and buttered the bread with such care that she did not want to cry or sob, though there was such a lump in her throat that she could not swallow what he gave her. Where is mother, dear father? She did not come to see me all yesterday. She was not able to come, he said in a low voice, but where is she? Is she in the next room? John bowed his head over the tray, but made no answer.  Mother always lifts the top off for me, she said with a sob. Ah, so she does.   Then she saw the tears for streaming down her father's face, and trickling down his beard, and thinking she had pained him by her words, she threw her arms around his neck, and cried out sorrowfully.  I love thee, oh so much. The breakfast is too nice.  Yes, yes, of course.  He drank a mouthful of the milk, and then quickly rising, he laid the piece of cake on the table by the stove, and went into another room. It was the next day that Violet was told the truth, though the truth was to remain to her for many a long day a strange and cruel mystery. When she opened her eyes at the usual hour the following morning, her father was not there, and only old Kate, the servant who waited on all the various lodgers in John's house, was in the room, standing by the stove, and pouring some water into a saucepan. Where is father, asked Violet, raising herself up painfully into bed, and gazing around her with a frightened air. He has gone out, replied Kate, keeping her back turned toward the child. Go to sleep. He said I was not to wake thee till he came home. But I am awake. Never mind, thou must go to sleep again. He said thou weren't on no account to awake or to speak until he returned. But I cannot go to sleep again, cried Violet, beginning to whimper a little. I can never go to sleep again in the mornings, unless mother lifts me up into bed and settles my pillows. Is mother gone out too? She has not come in these three mornings to see me. Kate did not answer the question, for at this moment she had upset some of the water out of the saucepan upon the top of the stove, and it frizzled and made a great pissing and noise. Meanwhile, Violet had raised herself upon her elbow and was gazing steadily at the door of her mother's room. Kate, she said presently, in a low, coaxing voice, couldst thou not carry me in thy arms in there? I know thou art very old, but father always says I am not heavier than a fly. Thy father would be very angry if I were to attempt to carry thee. He is far too careful of thee to trust thee in my old bones. But thou must do it, Kate. Then suddenly, raising her voice, till it sounded quite shrilly through the house, she cried out, Mother, Mother, may I not go into thy room? Dear mother, answer me. Violet's back aches and she wants to lie in thy bed. Tush, tush, said Kate, coming hurriedly to the bedside of the little girl, and putting her hand softly on her shoulder, thou must not cry and clamor so. It is no use. Thy mother is not in there. She cannot hear thee. Thou wilt only disturb the neighbors. She is there. She is there. Open the door. She cannot hear me with all that noise down there in the street. Do open the door that I may call to her.  She cannot hear thee. They have taken her away this morning, and she will not come back any more. The child must know the truth sometime, muttered Kate uneasily to herself. Her father should have told her before he went out. Why did they take her away? asked Violet, still all unconscious of the bitter truth conveyed by the words. Well, because it was arranged that she was to go this morning. But where, where, canst thou not answer me, Kate?   Poor child, why does she ask me such questions? To heaven, said Violet, with a little start, and then a long gasp of childish agony.   It is so far, so far away. Hush, hush, child, it is not so very far away. Thou must not cry so. If thy father were to hear thee, he would be angry with thee, that I have told thee. My father is not gone to heaven too, she cried, starting up from her pillows with a fresh burst of agony. Okay, Kate, father will not leave his little Violet. Father, father, come to, come to Violet. At this moment, the door opened, and her father came in. His face was deadly pale, and he walked over to the bed with a look of absolute horror in his face. My darling, my sweet one, he cried, Here is thy father, why dost thou call for him so? What troubles thee? What makes thee cry? Father is here now. He cannot bear to see thee weak. What ails thee, my sweetest treasure? They have taken mother away out of the next room. I screamed to her, and she would not answer. And Kate says she will never come back to me anymore. John looked up at the old servant with questioning eyes, full of deepest anger, drowned in pain. I could not help it, sir. The child awoke and made such a clamor I had to tell her. What wouldst thou have had me do? And the old woman burst into a fit of such unfaithful weeping that John uttered not a word of reproach, but turned again to soothe his little trembling darling. Did the good Lord Jesus call my little mother away? Asked Violet with quivering lips. Yes, my heart's treasure he did, he replied coarsely. And he gave her wings. Yes, yes. And Violet is only a poor little hunchback and has no wings. And mother said he would call me first. John laid his head down on the pillow and sobbed. End of chapter 3, chapter 4 of On Angel's Wings. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recorded by Shasta Ogland, California, On Angel's Wings by Louisa Delia-Streen, chapter 4, Father's Love. It was thus that Violet came to know that her mother was dead, but wary days and leaden months went by before she ceased to watch and wait for her. And each morning she only awoke to a fresh surprise, a fresh thrill of pain, a fresh wrestling of spirit against what could never be altered. While her father was in the room, she seemed always able to repress the anguish of her little heart. It was so tender, so pitiful.  But when he went out in the morning to the office for his orders or to the forest to select wood for his trade, and his daughter was left temporarily under the charge of Cape, then it was that all the world seemed going wrong, and that Violet's tears flowed almost ceaselessly. Cape had a kind loving heart, but she had, oh, such hard and sharp bones, and she had not learned by long and blotchful practice the easiest way to lift the poor invalid. Each day when she raised Violet from her bed and placed her in her bath before the stove, there were bitter cries of pain and sobbing cries for mother.  She had long sharp nails and often scraped her little neck and arms and the strings of the petticoats so often got into knots, which it took continuous minutes to undo again. Each day when John came home for his dinner at 12, he found little Violet's eyes red with tears, and the usually pale face swelled and blotched with the traces of past grief. Couldst not about dress me, father, she had said once edificially, and he had promised to try, but he had not proved much more successful than Cape. The buttons of his coat had hurt her, and the strings of the petticoats were to him an impossibility. He was a great big man, with hands like a giant, and he had a willing, loving heart bigger than his whole body, and yet the knots perplexed him even more than they did Cape. And after one trial, even Violet said with a smile, I'm afraid father is not a very good dresser, is he, to which he replied with a laugh. No, I'm afraid father is a regular old botch, but she saw as he turned away that there were tears in his eyes. After this, she made no further lamentations or regressing. It was not that Cape improved much, but she felt that the traces of her tears and her heavy eyes pained her father to his very heart. She saw it in his face each day as he entered the room at dinner time. She saw the anxious look of inquiry, and then the smile of relief as their eyes met, when there were no blistered cheeks or heavy eyelids to cause him sorrow. Her father was, by trade, a wood carver, or perhaps more strictly speaking, a toy maker. He was wonderfully clever and could make lovely boxes with carved fruit and flowers on their lids, and he could design and execute panels of cedar and wall rough covered with the most delicate traceries. But his chief employment was making toys, jacked in the boxes, Noah's arcs, sheepfolds, wooden soldiers, and wooden cannon, nine cans, and heaps of other playthings. For the town was famous for its toy shops, and John worked for one of the largest stores and was well known to be the most skillful hand at the trade. He had a little workshop on the ground floor of the house where he had his lathe and where he kept all his tools, and the wooden boxes also into which, when the toys were finished, he packed them for the foreign market. In the old days, when the little mother was upstairs and he knew that his violet was happy, he used to sit in this little den for hours at a time, carving and singing, while the toys, which were to fill the hearts of the foreign children with delight, grew under his hands in a marvelous way. But now, John never sang, and the work he formally delighted in seemed to have lost its interest. At last, he thought he would bring some of this work upstairs and sit of an evening in the window of Violet's room. Of course, all the lathe work and the coarser would carve it must be done downstairs, but he could generally find some occupation which would not litter the room above and which did not require noisy hammering or filing. Violet was enchanted at this new arrangement. She loved to see her father at his work and to watch the piece of shapeless wood grow gradually under his hand into the form he wished it to assume. Above all, she loved to see him carving the animals for the Noah's arts. When he had this work to do, he always sat close up beside her in the window, and as he finished each animal, he used to place it for her approval on the window sill, until sometimes all the narrow ledges were covered with elephants and ducks and pigs, apparently walking along in very solemn array. By and by, he allowed her to help him in his work. He bought her a little paint box, and he taught her how to color some of the animals, the yellow canaries, the dogs, and the speckled geese. He made her to a little table to fit exactly in front of her chair, very tall with rails to it in front, on which she could place her feet so that when she worked, she'd need not lean forward to tire her back. But little birds and foxes and squirrels, which she painted, were far more beautifully colored than those ordinarily placed in Noah's arts, because the colors she used were much finer than those in common use. So good John could say, with truthful pride, drew the neighbors and sometimes dropped in of an evening to chat with him and Violet. See what my little daughter can do. See how she helps me yet by work. There are no such animals to be seen in all that will shine.  More of happy blushes would fill her eyes while the neighbors looked admirably at the yellow weasels and the little red boxes, colored perhaps a thought too rightly, but still very pretty to look at. The toys, too, with which her room was now well stopped, were a great attraction to the children of the neighborhood. And where guns and drums and swords were to be had for the esting, the little ones, of course, loved to congregate. There was beginning to be a talk now about a war with France, and the children's ideas took all of a sudden the most warlike turn. They banged the drums and blew the wooden trumpets and slashed at the chairs and tables till the din was horrible, and sometimes Violet had hate, and she wished they would go away. But when they did go away and the shadows grew long and John had not returned from the forest or was busy turning some critical work on his blade, then she wished they were back again. But when she was alone, the old ache always began at her heart. The old cry came again to her lips. Mother, sweetest mother, come back to me. Of all the children who came to sit or play with Violet, she loved Fritz Adler the best. He and his little sister Ella were her almost daily visitors. Fritz's mother, the baker's wife opposite, always complained that Fritz was the wildest fly in all the town, and there certainly appeared to be an unusual amount of life about him. But perhaps this was just what made his company so pleasant to her. He always brought into her room a bright face and a hearty laugh, a great rush of free joyousness which seemed to lift the heart of the sick child out of a slanger and make it beat for the time, helpfully and happily. Besides this, she had trust in Fritz. He had never told her a lie, and she relied implicitly on all he said to her. With his curling hair and his bright eyes, his fresh color and his careless stride, he was the very embryo of a young German soldier, prepared to conquer or to die, and fear had no place in his heart. A greater contrast than he presented to poor little Violet could not be imagined.  Ella, like her brother, was the very personification of rude health. She had rosy cheeks, curly, fair hair, which hung over her shoulders, dimpled hands, and great, sturdy legs. She was simply Fritz's shadow. He exercised the same curious influence over her, which he did over Violet.  When Fritz fell unexpectedly into the gutter, Ella was certain to fall on top of him.  If there was one thing more than another, that Violet longed to be able to do that was to drive in this cart. When she saw the wooden box flying down the street past the window, with the children seated in it, her heart gave great leaps of excitement, and she leaned almost dangerously forward in her chair to see them reach the foot of the hill, but the coming home was somewhat mortigious. Nero was very good at galloping downhill, but exceedingly bad about coming up it again. Fritz generally urged him forward on these occasions by stout tugs at his tail, and fearful guttural sounds in which Ella joined until her very cheeks grew purple, but Nero had evidently not a sensitive tail, and when twiling up the hill he seemed also to grow quite deaf.  Violet had a little basket fastened to a cord which she could let down into the street from her window, and into which the children and the neighbors were in the habit of putting little presents. The baker's wife, Fritz's mother, often ran across the street and put in gingerbread cakes still warm from the oven. The confectioner's boy, too, as he went by with his loaded tray of dainties, had a commission from his naster to drop a package of sugar almonds or other sweets into the little wicker work basket. Fritz also, who was a genius, had contrived an arrangement by which a little bell could be run from the street up into her little turd window, whenever there was a gift waiting below for her in the street. But Fritz was also exceedingly mischievous, and one day, when he had run the bell somewhat violently, and Violet had let down her small basket, she had found inside when she opened it only a large yellow frog, squatting on a wine leaf which immediately leaped out first on her purple dress and then upon the floor, where the cat pounced on it and Violet's screams ran through the house. The Fritz had already reached the door, and the frog was carried off in his red pocket handkerchief and replaced among the cabbages in the back garden. After this, she always opened her basket cautiously, especially when the bell was run with unusual violence, and on one occasion, observing the legs of a cockroach issuing from the wicker sides of the basket, she opened the lid with special care, and seeing its contents, she turned the basket upside down and shook everything quickly into the street beneath.  This was one of the occasions on which Violet had really laughed. It would have been impossible not to do so, as the mirth which rose up from the street beneath was infectious to the last degree. Fritz's father, standing at his door and over whose head clouds of steam were issuing from the bakery beyond, laughed at his son's discomforture till the tear ran down his cheeks, and even the grim policeman walked out into the middle of the street, partly to avoid the black insects which were swarming on the narrow pavement beneath, and partly to catch a sight of little Violet's face.  His sword clanked against the pavement, and despite on his helmet shone severely bright, and none could guess, as he passed them, that the heart so tightly fastened up within his blue uniform was soft as the baker's doll in the shop beside him, or that his eyes were blinded at this very moment with sudden tears. There were occasions when even he had placed gifts in the basket, little toys which other hands had played with, storybooks which other eyes had feasted on greedily, and on whose pages were the marks of the little fingers which had held them once so tightly and eagerly grasped, and occasionally a bundle of snow drops had been dropped in hastily whose stalks had been rolled in damp moss to keep them fresh till the morning, for he always placed his gifts in the basket at night time. He rang no bell, no eye saw him. He did not call out to the little figure seated in the window above, with the shaded lamp burning on the table beside her. He asked for no thanks, but passed on with the same official trend, the same clanking sword, and the same ache forever at his heart. Violet never knew who it was that placed these presents in her basket. She often asked Fritz if he could guess, but though he did guess the butcher, the chestnut seller, and the lamp lighter simply because they had children, he never thought of the grave policeman who so often, as he walked past, threatened to put him in prison. Violet treasured these gifts more than all her other cousins. She felt by a kind of instinct that there was some story connected with them. On the flyleaf of one book, she had read the sudden sting of strongest pain, these words, for my own sick girly from her little mother.  In the evening, she had said to Fritz in a low voice, almost in pouring in its entreaty, couldst not thou, dear Fritz, find out for me who gave me this. I have told thee already, replied Fritz, who was busy sharpening a wooden sword on the hard edge of the lowest windowsill. It is the lamp lighter. I am certain of it. Whenever he goes by with his ladder and lantern, I remark, he is always looking up this house, and at thee. And besides, his pockets are always bulged out as if he had deeps of things in them. The reasoning was no doubt good, but it did not satisfy Viola. But has he any children? Fritz, she asked softly, and a little doubtfully, for Fritz sometimes grew impatient if his words were questioned. Of course he has, hundreds of them. But are any of them sick?   Sick like thee, how can I tell? All I know is, he has only one child, and she is the greatest goose in all the town, that fat red-haired girl called Mina, who sits under the red umbrella on the steps of the chapel and sells fruit. Viola shook her head and sighed. Fritz's description of the lamp-lighter's daughter did not fit in with her thoughts at all.  Again, she sighed heavily, and murmured to herself, half in a whisper, Oh, I wonder. What do you wonder about? What do you want to know? I'll tell you, if you don't bother, said Fritz quickly. I want to know if Mina could ever have had a little mother. Fritz had, by this time, succeeded in smashing the blade of the sword short off close to the very handle, and was standing up now, looking very red and angry opposite her, with a fearful smudge of paint on his lip and another on his cheek. Violet, he cried passionately, see what thou hast made me do. Thou art a little goose thyself. He waved the broken stump of the sword in his hand, and then stopped. Violet's book had slipped off her knees onto the floor, and Fritz, with his natural rough politeness, had stooped to pick it up. As he did so, he saw the written inscription on the fly leaf. For a full minute, he gazed at it, and then, looking up covertly at her, he saw that she had tears in her eyes. Violet, he cried remorsefully, with his two stout arms stretched out to embrace and comfort her. Don't cry. It could not be the same girl, for, he added with decision, Mina never had any mother. Of that, I am quite sure.  Thou hast stopped in very long by thyself, as thou, my sweet one, he said anxiously, as he looked at the eyes, raged up so lovingly to his, but still full of some strange and hidden tremor. Oh no! Fritz has been here, and besides, I have been reading. She glanced with almost the nervousness of guilt at the little table beside her, and moved herself restlessly on her chair. My darling has been tiring herself, I fear, said John, sitting down on the window sill beside her, and putting his great arm round her, lovingly. Well, now that Father has returned, dost thou know, canst thou guess what he has been about all the afternoon? No, Father, she said softly, laying her head down on his shoulder, with a long, weary breath. Her thoughts were evidently engrossed by some subject of which he knew nothing. Ah, my sweet, one must not sigh like that, he said, drawing her tenderly towards him. It makes Father's heart ache, and besides, when Violet hears Father's news, instead of crying, she will almost fly up her chair with joy. What, she cried, sitting so suddenly up, that John was almost terrified, and had to loose his close grasp of his little girl. Tell me, Father, quickly, quickly, tell Violet thy news. John gazed at her in silent wonder. He did not understand this mood, the brightly glittering eyes, the deepening flesh, the expression of a burning but unspoken anxiety, and the constant restless motion of the little hand which lay hot and dry in his palm. What hast thou been reading, he asked curiously, stretching out his arm towards the little table beside her, on which, now, for the first time, he had noticed a book, a strange book, with a yellow-spotted paper cover, and red edges. It was open. What was turned down upon the Bible, which always rested on the table beside her chair? Her mother's Bible, the most precious thing she had in all the worlds. Who gave thee this new book, and what story hast thou been troubling thy poor head with, he asked kindly, as he would have listed it from its resting place? Ah, do not touch it, she cried quickly, as she withdrew one hand from his rest, and laid it on the yellow-spotted cover. I have not finished it yet. It is too lovely a story. And first, first I must tell it all to Fritz, and then, then, Father, if Fritz says it is true, then I will tell it all to thee. She ended her sentence with a quick sob of excitement. Who gave thee the book, Violet? I do not know, Father, she rubbed her fingers up and down the cover restlessly. Thou dost not know? No, I have tried to think, but cannot tell. Fritz said, perhaps it was the lantern man gave it to me. But then his girl never had any mother.  Let us talk no more of books or lantern men, but instead we will speak of the grand carriage that Father is going to make for his Violet, cried John, beside himself with a sudden fear at the fever that had risen to the sick child's head, and was filling the poor weary brain with distracting fancies. He lifted her out of her chair with tenderest love, and sitting down beside the stove, all forgetful of the evening meal, which he so much needed after his day's work, he told her in quite unexcited tones, as he rocked her gently to and fro on his knee, how all the week he had been thinking over a design of a little carriage, which he was going to make for her, and for which he had gone that afternoon to the forest to choose wood, a carriage with springs which could go over the cobbles outside and not shake her poor back, and into which her pills could all be put, and in which she would be as comfortably propped up as if she were in her chair at home. And if that does not succeed, and my little one was too tired to drive, then we shall make a carriage with handles to it, and we shall carry thee everywhere, thou choosest to go. Fritz and I can take he out on Sundays for long drives. Is it not so, Violet?  Cannot I, father? Yes, my heart, we will go there first. Will she know I am there? Is she too far up, father? I cannot tell, darling. But if Violet had the question died on her lips, and John had become strange this silent, by and by, as the room darkened, and this long summer evening grew shadowy, he rose up and lifted his little weary daughter in his arms, and laid her down on her bed. This time the knots came undone without trouble, and no cape was needed to assist in putting on the white frilled nightdress, or to shake up the pillows behind her aching shoulders. John seemed, tonight, to have hands like her mother's.  As he leaned over her to give her his good night and a kiss, she said softly, Another kiss, father, which, having received, she murmured to herself lovingly, Good night, father, good night, mother, and soon she was fast asleep. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Shasta, Oakland, California. On Angel's Wings by Louisa Lilia Streen Chapter 6 Great Excitement When John knew by Violet's regular breathing that she was fast asleep, he rose gently from his seat beside the bed, and went over to the little table, on which lay, amongst so many others of the child's treasures, the mother's bible, and the gold-spotted book. He took them up with quite a reverence, almost a guilty touch, and placed them with care upon the larger table at the foot of the bed. Then he lit the lamp, shaded it, and, having once more leaned over the bed to see that Violet slept, he sat down to look at this new book in the pretty paper cover, which seemed, by its contents, to have so excited and interested her. He placed his finger in the page at which he found it open, and turned first to look at the title. He smiled rather sadly as he read the name, or it was a book that he remembered while having read himself when he was a youngster. He had forgotten the stories now, but he recognized the clumsy woodcut, which had had the power not so long ago to thrill his own heart with a feverish excitement, and make it beat with a mixed enthusiasm and distress. But it was with no mixed distress that his eye fell on the page, where he had just placed his finger, and which had evidently in the center point of poor little Violet's interest. On one side of the open book was a plate divided by the old-fashioned style into three consecutive pictures, one above, one in the middle, and one at the foot of the page. On the opposite side was a short poem consisting of three verses, each verse explanatory of the plate opposite it. It was called The Hunchbacked Girl, and as his eyes fell on the name and the pictures which accompanied it, he closed the book hurriedly and said, in a voice straining between anger and tears, how wicked they shall answer to me for this, but by and by, making a strong effort over himself, he opened at the page again and stared at the plates and the print until he saw them no more. The first picture represented a woman lying evidently at the verge of death in one of the garret rooms of a house situated in a large town, for one could see, through the open window, the roofs of houses opposite and the top of a church steeple. By her side knelt a man with a child in his arms, which he was holding up towards its mother to receive from her the last embrace, for her hands were outstretched also and underneath were written the words of Peter Zayn to meet again. The second picture represented a little child cropped up in a chair at the same window with its head resting on its hand and its eyes looking out desolately across the roofs and the steeple to the sky beyond.  In the third picture the room was the same, but the chair stood empty at the window. The little pallet in the corner was empty also, but in the center of the apartment with eyes steadfastly uplifted and with a radiant smile upon its face stood the little hunchbacked child. On either side was an angel holding it by its hands and from between its poor rary shoulders had sprung up two shining wings rising into the air behind it and apparently stretching themselves out for flight. Underneath was written in the same small close old-fashioned printing, kind of terrain of mare, no more tears. John did not trust himself to look at the story. He laid his face down on the page and stretched out his hand on the table, while his fingers closed tightly on his palm. God help my little violet, he said bitterly to himself, as long as I live she shall never be left alone. But even as he spoke, while his head was still bowed over the open page before him and his heart throbbed heavily against the wooden table, he was aware of an unusual stirrer in the street beneath, a hum of voices rising higher and higher, the trampling of many feet and far off near the barrack square a bugle call loud and shrill which made him start up from his sitting posture and walk quickly to the window.  All Edelsheim seemed gathered together in this one narrow thoroughfare. Every moment the voices were becoming louder, excitement greater. It was with difficulty the lamp lighter could force his way through the crowd to light the large lamp, which hung in the center of the street on a chain suspended across the roadway from the Adler's house to his own. John opened the window for a moment and looked out across the wooden box filled with violets which stood in the old mullioned embrasure. Pist he cried, leaning down and trying to catch the attention of someone immediately beneath the window. What has happened? The question was heard for a woman looking suddenly upwards to see who spoke clung her arms high up into the air and cried out in a shrilly voice of anguish. War is proclaimed. He closed the window as suddenly as he had opened it gave one glance toward a little bed to see that Violet was still asleep and then sank down upon the broad window seat with his face covered. War is proclaimed. Only three words and yet the whole town was already rocking with their import. Bells were ringing, shouts were rising, men and women stood so closely packed beneath that one could have walked across their heads with safety. Exultant youths, full of their young life and young blood, so soon to be given and split for God and Fatherland were flinging their caps in the air. Men too, with beards and grizzled hair, shouted and gesticulated frantically. Others, brave and silent, turned their voices inward and cried aloud through the god of the fatherless and widow. Fritz in his nightdress at the little table window opposite was blowing a shrill tin trumpet and screaming out in his high boyish voice. War! War! War! Which was echoed by a still higher trouble in the room beyond. At last Violet stirred. It was almost impossible, but with such a dim going on outside she could sleep on. In a moment John had risen and was kneeling at her bedside. His hand had clasped the little fingers which lay so loosely upon the knitted counterpane. His bearded check was close to the white face on the pillow, barely discernable, now in the closely shaded light of the lamp which burned at the foot of the bed. He was ready, with the word of love, to quiet her alarms and with a kiss to soothe her back to sleep. But they were not needed. She merely moved restlessly to and fro on her pillow and muttered to herself in some dreamful excitement. Look! Look out into the street! What dust thou see, father! John bent low over the child's face and touched it gently with his lips. He must have hissed her then, or his heart would have broken. Even in her sleep Violet knew who was bending over her. Father! she said softly. Yes, my heart's love, I am here beside thee. Seeest thou? Is it not lovely? What! what! he asked with a sob. The little hunchback has wings. After this she gave a long, restful sigh and turned her head against her father's arm. Nor did the noise in the street disturb her any more, though the cries at times rose almost to shrieks, and though the lamp in her room burned on, unextinguished, until daylight had taken its place. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of On Angels Wings This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Anita Sloma Martinez On Angels Wings by Louisa Lilius Green Chapter 7 Fritz and Ella The next day there seemed little of any diminution of the excitement. The crowd was not quite so dense, but ordinary business appeared for the time almost suspended. People were rushing up and down the street with slips of paper in their hands, on which were printed the latest telegrams. The persons who were usually engrossed with their work in the early hours of the day were standing at the doors of their shops and houses discussing the great news of impending war, news which gathered with every hour fresh confirmation. Violet, of course, seated as usual in her chair in the window, could not but notice the bustle on the stir beneath, but it did not frighten or distress her, for her father had brought his work up to her room quite early this morning, and when he was near her, she always reposed on his strength and courage in place of her own. But John was both distressed and disturbed, and presently seeing that Violet's hair was a little blown about by the wind, he made it a pretext for closing over the casement so that she might not hear what the people were talking about so earnestly in the street underneath, and for a time his efforts were successful. It was only as the day wore on and it came near the time when he had to go to the store for orders that she grew restless, and the anxious pleading look came into her eyes which he never could bear to see, and which today he felt less able than ever to withstand. I shall not be long gone, darling, he said softly as he gathered up his tools, and laid them on the broad windows so beside her. See, I am not taking away my work materials, and I shall be back almost before thou thinkest that I am gone. I will send Kate to sit with thee, and thou canst teach her how to paint the ducks for the magnet box. Only this time I would not give them scarlet wings. Black, I think, would be better. Violet smiled at the idea of Kate's trying to paint the ducks. Kate, who was so blind that she could not see a cockroach creeping across the kitchen floor, and the length of whose nails would sadly interfere with her holding the paintbrush. I would rather have Fritz to sit with me, she said plaintively. Fritz? Ah, well, but is not this the time for his school? He has not been at school all today. I have seen him ever so often at the window. See, Father, he is there now, and oh, only look what a dress he has got on! She burst out laughing, and even John with his heavy heart could not repress a smile, for there at the window opposite, stood Fritz with an enormous spiked helmet on his head, a huge military coat buttoned across his chest which covered his whole body, and a pair of writing boots on his legs, which evidently encumbered him a good deal. For just at this moment, while John and Violet were gazing at him, he made a sudden rush at some unseen enemy beside the curtain, and one of the boots doubling up at the ankle, he fell waddling on the floor, his helmet tumbling off his head, and going almost out of the window, while all his efforts to get up again, even with the assistance of Fat Ella, who tugged at him with all her might in vain, were fruitless. Again Violet burst out into one of those rare fits of real childlike laughter, which always delighted and refreshed poor John's heart. But today, though he smiled somewhat grimly, he turned away quickly to the door, saying as he went, I shall see about Fritz coming to sit with thee, but if his mother will not permit it, thou must be content for a while with Kate. Yes, yes cried Violet after him, but do please send Fritz here, I have something so particular to ask him. She watched her father as he crossed over the street to the bakers. He was such a great tall man that he had generally to stoop as he went in at the doorway. But today Madame Adler met him at the entrance to the bakery, and they held what seemed to the watcher at the window of stairs a very lengthy conversation. Madame Adler, who was around Fat Little Body, gesticulating somewhat wildly, pointed first up the street and then down it, and clutched every now and then at her cap, which was hanging half off the back of her head, while she gazed up at the great tall man beside her, whose grave eyes were fixed intently upon her face, and who listened earnestly while she poured forth a torrent of words, not one of which Violet could hear from the buzz and noise in the street beneath. Fritz, who had regained his legs by this time, was now standing in the window opposite, making frantic signs across to Violet, who at first remained quite unconscious of his efforts, but presently looking up, she saw him waving a sword furiously across the street to attract her attention. And seeing now he had secured it, he proceeded to make a sudden lunge at Ella, digging the weapon apparently deep into the very middle of her body. Ella immediately collapsed on the floor, and Fritz continued for some time to crawl her violently. Violet screamed and turned away her head, but when she looked round again, Ella, with an enormous brown paper helmet on her head, was standing beside Fritz in the very middle of the window, grinning from ear to ear, while her assailant, still marshally attired in the old trailing coat, and with the face flushed with victory, had his arm thrown affectionately round her neck. By and by, as Violet still gazed across and smiled more and more at Fritz's excited movements, she saw her father enter the room opposite. He sat down in a chair a little distance from the window and called Fritz over to him, and a conversation ensued, apparently of some interest, as Fritz never lifted his eyes from John's face while he was speaking to him, and Ella's countenance also assumed a kind of rigid stilidity most unnatural to it. But this tranquility did not last long, for no sooner had John left the room, having shaken hands with Fritz and kissed Ella, than a kind of secondary excitement seemed to take possession of the children. Fritz first took off his own helmet, and then, while Ella was stooping down to unloosen her brown paper leggings, he snapped hers off also with a summery politeness which Ella seemed for a moment to resent. But Fritz had no time, evidently, to give to tribals. He laid both helmets on the foot of a couch, which projected out into the window, and then he rapidly divested himself of his coat and his huge leather boots, winding up by planting Ella on the end of the sofa and tugging violently at her less cumbersome leggings, until the little girl descended suddenly upon her back on the floor. This time a few tears evidently softened the heart of the warrior, for he stooped down, lifted Ella from the ground, and covered her face with kisses, and in a few minutes Violet saw them both emerge from their house hand in hand, and cross over the street, and push through the gathering of people towards the door of her own house which opened immediately beneath her window. She felt rather sorry that Ella had come across with her brother, for she had something to say to Fritz, a question to ask him in secret about some subject which was troubling her, and which she felt she could only confide to him in private. But when the door of her room opened and Ella burst in all smiles and health and happiness, and rushed over to pulling her dimpled arms around Violet's neck, she forgot for a time about her secret and her spirits rose, and her white face broke into one of its sudden smiles as she noticed scraps of cord and paper still sticking to Ella's fat legs which Fritz had evidently been too hurried to remove. What has thou been doing all this morning, Ella? she asked curiously, and why has Fritz not been at school? I have seen him ever since I was dressed playing in the window. Ella's cheeks suddenly deepened to a purple red, and she gazed towards her brother with eyes which said plainly, thou must give an answer to this question. I have not been at school because, because, well, because I did not go, and besides, I was busy doing lots of other things. Ella's face looked decidedly relieved by this explanation of her brothers, which was entirely satisfactory to her own mind, but Violet was much puzzled by Fritz's words and still more perplexed by his manner, which was strange and quite unlike himself. While she was pondering with herself what it all meant, Ella broke in upon the silence. Yes, Fritz was doing lots of things all the morning, killing and cutting and stabbing the French, and he gave me an awful scrape on the arm. Just look at it, Violet! And Ella turned round the baddest of arms to Violet, the compassionate inspection, across which, just at the pink and dimpled elbow, there certainly was a most undeniable and somewhat gory scratch. Hold thy tongue, thou little gabbling goose of a chatterbox, cried Fritz, turning suddenly round in real anger, and casting a glance of withering score upon his unhappy sister. Has thou already forgotten what I said to thee in the hall downstairs? I did not say anything about the war, said Ella in reply, covering her face suddenly with her frilled pinafore and grasping onto the side of the invalid's chair while she stretched out her hand as if to defend herself. I did not say one word about the war, did I, Violet? No, no, she said nothing, nothing that I heard. She is a good little lamb, and thou must not frighten her, Fritz, cried Violet soothingly as she drew the little sobbing girl over to her side and held her arm tightly round her bat waist.  She has no more sense than the head of a pin. I told her something only a moment ago downstairs, and the instant she gets up into the room she must begin to let out the whole secret. What secret? About the war, subbed Ella. About what war? I do not understand. Why is it a secret? And why should Ella not tell me? She added in a distressed voice. He said if I did tell thee he would cut my tongue out with his sword and give me to the policeman to put me into the prison, subbed Ella. For shame, Fritz!  I will not let him touch the Ella. There, put down my apron. Fritz was only laughing at thee.  This brilliant sally was suggested by the dissent of one of Violet's newly painted animals upon Fritz's head from the window ledge above. I would not swallow a camel. I am not a thrush, still subbed Ella hiding her face against Violet's chair. Well, well, what does it signify? Stop crying, cried Fritz, making an effort over himself to recover his usual gallantry. Come along. Let's have some fun. May we take down all those old beasts overhead and have a game with them? May we Violet? We have not played at crossing the desert for ages. Yes, yes, only take care. Some of them are quite sticky, and one or two have broken legs. But there are lots of other animals in the Noah's Ark in the corner. All right, now we shall have real good fun, cried Fritz, tucking Ella's lingering arm from the rungs of Violet's chair, with reassuring roughness and making room for her on the bench beside him. Now thou shall be Noah, and Violet shall be Aaron, and I will be Moses with the rod. What rod asked Ella, gazing up at her brother rather doubtfully with eyes all wet and smudged with tears, whilst she wriggled herself into a more comfortable position on the carpenter's hard bench beside him? Oh, not the rod thou meanest, to replied reassuringly, as he emptied out Pell-Mell a whole box full of animals upon the table. Cows, sheep, ducks, elephants, and canary birds all heaped up in a mound of wild confusion. Ella had by this time her yellow curly head pillowed confiningly against Fritz's left shoulder, and perfect harmony was restored between them. Violet was now the most silent of the three. For some minutes past she had seemed in a reverie, and occasionally she looked anxiously across at Fritz as if longing but fearing to ask him some question. Whether he was aware of these longing, sourful glances directed towards him, it was impossible to tell. One might perhaps have thought so from the way he rambled on in a foolish, disconnected style, while he ranged the animals two by two along the edge of the table, and elicited shrieks of laughter from Ella by making the broken-legged elephant sit on its tail, while the no-legged goose was given a lift across the desert, seated between the horns of a scarlet cow. At last they were all arranged in order, from the elephant down to the little red spotted ladybird, which was fully as large as the mouse some distance in front of it, and Ella was desired to keep her feet and arms under the table, as every time she stretched them out she was certain to overturn a whole cavalcade of animals.  But Moses did not drive the animals into the ark, nor Aaron either, said Violet, smiling. Yes, yes, shouted Ella, kicking her toes against the underneath part of the table, so that several of the astonished animals suddenly leaped high into the air, and then fell down on their sides. Yes, yes, Fritz is right. Moses drove them in, everyone into the ark. He whacked them with his rod and off the gallop. For shame Ella, cried Violet, though she could not help laughing a little as she looked at the joyous round face opposite her, stretched in innocent smiles from ear to ear. It was Noah who drove the animals into the ark, and besides, that story is in the Bible. But Fritz said it was Moses, repeated Ella, whose confidence in Fritz's veracity was not easily to be shaken. I know I did, but I was wrong. It was Noah, of course, only what does it matter? I never can remember the names of those very old men, and besides, I don't much care for Bible stories. I like bits of them, that's all. Oh, said Violet, with the sound of such unmistakable dismay in her voice, that Fritz looked up surprised. Thou dost not care for Bible stories, Fritz? No, he does not. Only bits. Bits the size of a crumb, chimed in Ella, who was busy crushing the heads of two stags together to the total destruction of their antlers. Hold thy tongue, Ella, cried Fritz, angrily. I do like some Bible stories, of course. Daniel in the lion's den, and Guhazi, who was turned white for telling a lie, that's a grand story, and the little child who was standing in the corn in the sun and got a headache, and who was made alive after he was dead and given back to his mother. I like that, best of all. So do I, screamed Ella, whose mirth was momentarily becoming more irrepressible. Get in, old humpy back, into thy box. Get in, I say, old beast. This speech was addressed to a kind of violet-colored camel, which had stuck in the entrance to the ark, and was now standing head downwards amongst its imprisoned comrades, with its heels elevated in the air.  Thou must not speak of humps to violet? A sudden push from Fritz's elbow sent the astonished Ella rolling off the bench onto the floor. Violet, cried Fritz, suddenly looking up and taking no notice whatever of his sister's descent, for at this moment a spasm of recollection had flashed across his mind. Does thou know Violet, the lamplighter's girl has a mother? I saw her yesterday morning in the market selling fish. Selling fish, said Violet, repeating Fritz's words in a curious, absent manner. Yes, and such an old lobster I never saw. Her hands were just like claws, and—but what does the matter with thee? Why art thou crying?  Mother slap me for speaking about thy hump, and Ella shall get slapped, too. I am not crying, said Violet, vainly trying to keep back a sob. It is only because I have been waiting so long, Fritz, to say something to thee. Not about the war, cried Fritz, coloring crimson and bending his face down suddenly on the table. I promise thy father I would not tell thee nothing about it. It is nothing about war. It is a secret, but—but I could not say it to thee before Ella. She would not understand. Well, Ella shall go.  Ella, at these words, half moved out from her hiding-place under the wooden table. Wither after her fall she had retreated in some dudgeon, but she almost immediately drew herself in again, and said flatly, Ella will not go home. Mother will smack her for calling the camel a hiss, thou little goose. Mother will do nothing of the kind. Get up quickly, or I will not carry thee at all. There, hold on tightly now and keep thy heels quiet, for it is getting so dark, and the stairs are so narrow, I might fall down and break thy neck. Say good evening now to Violet, and away we go. He carried Ella over to Violet's chair, and the little maiden put her soft loving arms about her neck, and kissed her with all the strength of her childish heart. Ella did not make thee cry, Violet, did she? Ella did not know that thou was so fond of the poor. She did not finish her sentence, for Fritz whirled her away suddenly. But Violet called down the stairs after her. Ella did not make Violet cry. Ella is a good girl. Good evening, sweet Ella. It was almost dusk when Fritz returned, and John had not yet come home. Violet heard the boy step on the stairs, and her heart beat so fast that the neck of her little purple frock heaped up and down flutteringly. She had packed away all the animals she could fit into the Noah's Ark, and the others she had placed in a heap on the window sill. There was nothing now on the table before her but her mother's Bible, and the book with the gold-spotted cover. For the twentieth time since Fritz had left the room, she had opened this book at the picture of the little hunchback, and has hastily closed it again. I will ask him first, and then I will show it to him, she said in a whisper to herself, as she looked up nervously at the opening door. But Fritz came in quite unconscious of the fluttering heart. His own was beating so hard that he had to sit down on the chair by the stove to get his breath, and it was some moments before he gasped, well, if ever I take that great fat Ella on my back again, I would rather carry a cow to market on my shoulders than have her hanging on to my neck and throttling me. First she made me carry her up to the top of the house to the very garret because she said mother was there, and then all the way down again because she said mother was in the bakehouse.  Pa, she weighs at the least three tons. What were they crying about, asked Violet curiously. I saw so many people crying in the street today. People often cry when they have nothing else to do, he said, drumming up suddenly from his chair and raking out the ashes from the stove vehemently. At least Ella does. But, of course, they had something to cry for. Only it is a secret, and thou must not ask me.  Thou hast not asked me yet, Fritz, what my secret is. What is it, then, he asked, coming close up to the table, and then, recognizing the gold-spotted cover on the back of which Violet's fingers were trembling visibly, he added, Is it about the lamp-lighter's girl, or hast thou perhaps found out the name of the little mother? No, said Violet, shaking her head. I cannot think who the mother is. But, oh, there is such a lovely story in her book, Fritz, and I want so much to ask of thee, is it true? Show it to me, said Fritz cheerfully. Of course I can tell it to thee at once. But Violet covered the book with both her hands, and though it was now almost dusk, he noticed how the blood rushed over her white face, and she looked for a little while out of the window. No, no, in a minute thou shalt see it. But first thou wilt tell me one thing, wilt thou not, Fritz, only one thing, but quite, quite truly, and she turned her eyes upon him so earnestly that the boy felt almost frightened. Of course I will answer thee truly, but first I must hear thy question. If mother were here, she could tell me all I want to know, side Violet, putting off the dreaded moment, and, father, I know he could also tell me, only he does not like me to talk about hunchbacks. About hunchbacks, cried Fritz with the sudden gas, I do not know anything about hunchbacks. Yes, yes, thou dusk, she cried excitedly. I am a little hunchback. Thou knowest that. Thou saidst so thyself, Fritz, one day long ago, and now thou wilt tell me this one thing. Is it true? She paused and breathed more quickly than ever, though a question was evidently one of gigantic importance. Is what true, that God gives the little hunchbacks these humps? Yes, of course, that is to say, first they get a fall or something, and then God gives them the humps afterwards. And what does he put into them? What? I do not understand thee. Is there not something inside of every poor hunchback's hump? Yes, of course there is. Well, and what is it, Fritz? Dear Fritz, tell me what it is. The question was breathed with actual pain. Does thou mean what is in thy hump, this thing, and Fritz laid his hand very softly on her shoulders? Yes. Why, anyone knows that. Bones, of course, that can feel them. Bones, she gasped. Yes. Bones and flesh and skin and all that kind of thing. Violet's eyes distended, and anguish crept into them that appalled even Fritz. She drew the spotted book quickly over to her and said slowly as she opened it at the story of the hunchback. Look at that picture, Fritz.  There are angels in the page, and the little girl flies up to her mother, and people would not write what was not true about angels and heaven. The question was a little puzzling, but Fritz answered it without hesitation. The stories in this book are all fairy tales. Look at the cover, and thou canst see that for thyself. Fairy tales? But are fairy tales never true? No, at least none that I ever read.  That is not a fairy tale, for I am sick just like her. And why must that one little bit be untrue? And besides, sob, Violet, whose whole courage and hope seemed almost to have forsaken her, besides the words under that picture are in the Bible, I found them in Mother's own Bible. No more tears.  What does it matter, he said, as he pushed the spotted book away from her? I will throw this old thing out of the window if it makes thee cry. Thou dost not want wings? Thou art the best little angel in all Edelshine. And besides, flies have wings, and they are horrid beasts. And so why need one care? And he threw his arms round her neck, and kissed her wet face, and whispered every loving name he could think of into her ear.


Simple as that. Everybody else to include the VC, they're in, they're sitting, they're chilling, they're paying attention, they're sector observation and they're chilling as if they're pressed ready.  Hey, you're disabled, but we're comfortable. VC taps the gunner, puts it over the neck so he needs a toe, looks back and says, hey, here it is.  Roger. Roger. Gunner, am I clear? You're clear. The situation right here, we're almost got caught on it, let's say it was all the way


What's up everybody? Jayz here with jayskyzcasebrakes.com 2020 panini select blaster 1 box break 2 and team number 5 just sold out This is the one diamond icon spot. So Again that break is already sold out So we're gonna be away two spots here number 5 and two spots in number 6 to sell it out guys So this is break number 5 and again the way it works Randomized customer names and teams distribute the hits out of this blaster Then at the end of the break we'll randomize customer names again in a separate dice for randomizer and customer name at the top 2 We'll get a spot each in the diamond icon spray So there you go Let's roll it and we got a one and a two three times One Two Three Brandon done a Brandon. All right three times here one two three D-vax done to the Oakland A's I Do remember that that's the stat line that Randy Moss had against the Cowboys I remember correctly. That's what it was Think he only caught touchdown passes that game Right now the D-vax claim with the Yankees Patrick with the Rockies right of the Orals Marissa with the White Sox Giants Brandon with the Royals Jarrett with the Reds Brandon with the Cubs Dodgers Patrick with the Phillies playing with the Mets Brandon with the Astros Phillies or Pirates are Marlins Braves claim with the Rangers Sean with the Poggers Brandon with the Blue Jays twins angels Indians raised Jarrett with the Tigers Patrick with the Mariners Brandon the Red Sox Clayton with the Brewers Patrick with the National Sean with the Cardinals and Brandon with the Ogloneas All right, so I'm gonna close the trailer guys. No one's really gonna trade in this but Praying rip and then we'll give away those two spots in diamond icons if we're down to four guys We really need to sell it out today. I mean you guys really want to break it tonight. We have to sell it out So number six is pretty much sold out have four spots left guys That'll be the way we end the night tonight Nice I'll hammer my uncle still lives in our hand, but it's probably no more than what five six miles from from where I live And I'm on Chris Brian for a moment.  I'm off after Diamond icons fills and if it doesn't fill by 11 o'clock and I'm off At 11 regardless Tony Gonsolin That's up to you guys if you guys want to fill tonight There's only four spots left. So I hope you guys want to fill it Not that'll be the first break of the day tomorrow All right, there you go guys Now let's see who's gonna win spots in the random hit top two get in Let's roll it and we got a three to four for seven times. Good luck one three four five six seven Wow, look at that. Wow. That is crazy after seven times Clayton with his two spots Seven am I seeing this right three and seven times Clayton gets one and two There you go Clayton. It is your night. Congratulations. You just won two spots in random hit numbers 19 of diamond icons. We have another way to win number six of blasters and that's our last break of the night. Appreciate it


and then you've got your email message I've sent with the forms so most of the time these days when you send out your your information forms usually like the invoices the most common one you might have a message that's going to send out by default when you email it out so instead of mailing it we've got the email it says use greeting deer versus so you could you know say two if you want or have it blank and then full name or you can choose whatever method you want to address them as company name first name last name or so on and then and it should pull that information in from the customer data that we enter when we add customers which will do in a future presentation this is for an invoice the estimate is another form that you might provide say to a customer if you have a system where you're using estimates the credit memo kind of reverses a sale so hopefully we don't have to use that too often the sales receipt is something that you might provide at the point of sale less common to present it to the client because it might be an internal form but it might be an external form as well that you give to the client and then the statements are the things that you create periodically to summarize all the invoices that might be outstanding so if they haven't paid you for example and then the refund receipts so these are items that you might give to the client here's the default message for each of them so here we've got the invoice at the subject line and then we appreciate your business please find your invoice details here and then of course it'll give an attachment of the invoice so you can customize this message if you so choose for the invoice for the estimate please find your estimate details so on for the credit memo your credit memo is attached and so on and then the sales receipt please have your save the sales receipt below and then your statements your statement is attached please remit payment at your earliest convenience and then you've got the attached of the statements which is like a summary of all the stuff that's outstanding and then down here you've got your estimates and and email me a copy so you could have them email you a copy and then and then


If you're genuinely saved, you've been made a new creation in Christ. New creation. If you've been genuinely saved, then you have renewed nature. A new heart, the Bible calls it. With that, you have a new heart disposition. Your affections have changed. Your desires have changed. You love the Lord, whereas before, at best, you were uninterested or indifferent.  You want to be rid of it. You have the mind of Christ. You've been made a partaker of the divine nature. There's been a transformation in your heart and mind if you're in Christ. But all of that, that new creation, that new disposition, that new heart, that new nature, has been encased, as it were, in your mortal flesh.


All of the jokes that I've been receiving today is how they invited the Canadian to come and read on election night. Thank you so much for the invitation. And I have such deep roots with radar as someone who sort of, I feel like I came of age in San Francisco at a time when I was not doing a whole lot of writing and doing a little bit more partying. And I remember sitting in this room with Michelle T and someone asked a question about publishing or writing and she looked at them and said, you know, my advice to all writers is write the book first and then figure out what to do with it. And I come here with my first book project. It's called You Only Live Twice. It's out with Coach House in Canada. And it takes up my transition from female to male and my friend Mike Holboom's Near Death from AIDS in the 1990s as Starter Blocks for Second Lives. And I'm going to read you two short pieces from the book today. Do I have to be very close to the mic? I do. Okay. Great. No. I once walked in on my parents having sex, which was a remarkable feat as I'd only ever seen them kiss a handful of times. I was eight, it was Mother's Day, and I had gone downstairs early to make coffee. I'm not sure how I did that exactly, but after a successful brew, I carefully tiptoed up the carpeted stairs and opened the lever door with my elbow, hoping to surprise them with my two cups of Joe. Rounding the corner toward the bed, I saw them on top of each other, not really moving and making little to no sound. Startled, but also as if I had been rehearsing for this moment for my entire life, I turned around slowly and closed the door again behind my back. My next step, to set the coffee cups down on the floor, take a deep breath, knock on the door, pick up the cups, and enter the room again. Of course, after the knock, they had taken up positions on opposite sides of the bed, probably never to have sex again. A few years later, a friend introduced me to a public access radio program called The Sunday Night Sex Show with Sue Johansson, wherein people would call in to ask for sex advice. The show was awkwardly timed six to eight p.m., which was earlier than my bedtime, and I was not one to go to bed before I had to. Successfully faking a stomach ache one night, I huddled into bed, eager for a secret listen. Unfortunately, the cord of my earphones wasn't long enough to allow me to remain settled on my pillows, so I had to spin around and put my head where my feet would be normally. Halfway through the show, my mom walked in to check on me. Startled by her entrance, I jolted up, pulling the headphones cleanly out of the stereo jack.  My stomach is feeling better, I said. This next section is called Funeral. For years, my mom asked me to accompany her to see my grandmother. At the time, my grandma was living in an assisted care facility on the outskirts of a town in which I grew up, a rich, white, steppward-wise... Whoa, can we just start this whole story one more time? I just realized that I'm not an ambidextrous bookholder. I'm gonna need to do some work. For years, my mom kept asking me to accompany her to see my grandmother. At the time, my grandma was living in an assisted care facility on the outskirts of the town in which I grew up, a rich, white, steppward-wise-inspired place I never wanted to be in that town again, let alone its outskirts. I had left home for California at 18 as a blonde-haired, over-achieving girl with a boyfriend, only to return home almost a decade later as a tiny, mustache-sporting, tattooed man. Such a transformation rendered details like my prior over-achievements and past-boyfriends narratively insignificant to the majority of people I encountered thereafter. And other than acknowledging awkwardly obvious and unnecessary statements such as, hey, you look so different these days. I hadn't felt the need to explain anything to anyone. My grandma was a wicked woman. It's a strange thing to remain sympathetic to someone so cruel. Something about cycles of abuse and realizing that she was acting out on her kids in a way that she was acted out upon. As if her manic hysteria was somehow the only available resource to her and therefore we, as her kids and grandkids, were supposed to forgive and forget. In my most recent request for my company, my mom told me that grandma was dying and while, yes, she had ostensibly been dying for decades, the time to visit was really now or never. We drove out to the nursing home together on a frigid, snow-blown January night. A dutiful daughter, my mom had been making these trips periodically all the while acknowledging that such care for her would never have been reciprocated. On the drive, mom warned me that grandma was uncomfortably thin and not particularly lucid. The walls of the home were painted a mute green and smelled of alcohol swabs. Walking down the hall to my grandmother's room, I felt my stomach contract involuntarily. The silent combination of anger and potential shame was only mitigated by what felt to me like Game Day adrenaline.  My mom and I locked eyes knowingly and shared a deep breath as we approached the curtain-off area. But before we could turn the corner, a nurse sporting oversized scrubs and a 1970s lesbian haircut stopped us in our tracks. I'm so sorry, but she just passed. We froze. Right now, I asked quite genuinely, even though I'm sure it sounded extremely sarcastic, just moments ago, she said. As if we were trapped in the second act of a Neil Simon play, my mom's younger brother and his wife surreptitiously emerged from the elevator to join us for the news. Right now, asked my uncle in disbelief, just moments ago, the nurse repeated. Outside every room at the nursing home were small glass vitrines filled with trinkets and memorabilia specific to each patient behind each door. Walking the corridors, one might assume that everyone in firm was a war veteran, or at least in love with one. I gazed upon the gold frames, tiny ceramics, and fake flowers staged in the box on my grandmother's behalf. Even if she hadn't been dead, her memories certainly were. My mom reached for her cell phone and my aunt followed the nurse down the hall. Well, Chance, I'm not really sure what to say, said my uncle. When I changed my name to Chase, I did not consider its associative similarity to the word Chance. Nor did I understand the confusion that would ensue when Chas Bono decided to transition and choose something so phonetically similar. Anyway, my mom returned from making calls and excused me from talking to my uncle by requesting that we speak for a moment in private. A generous, soft-spoken woman, my mom's conversion from Christianity to Orthodox Judaism in the year prior continued to intensely inform all of her choices. In my faith, she said to me quietly, we never leave a dead body alone. Okay, I responded quite plainly as if I had just been given the weather report, and I have to go make arrangements for the funeral home to come and pick up her body, so I need you to go sit with her. Walking through the curtain, I wondered what it must have felt like to call that room home for so many years. Turning the corner toward to see her, I was immediately overwhelmed. The staff hadn't unplugged her from the ventilator yet, which meant that a machine continued to rhythmically pump her chest up and down. She couldn't have weighed more than 80 pounds. Her lips looked dry, and her fingers were purple. Well, now at least we know, said my aunt as she walked in and sat beside me. Nobody wants to admit the limits of their labor and taking care of a dying person, but everybody knows that those limits exist. My uncle followed her into the room with my mom just a few steps behind. So I guess it's probably time we bring out Bill, he said. Bill was my grandma's second husband. Bill asked my mom. Grandma has been hiding grandpa in the closet, they exclaimed. Crossing the room where grandma still lay, my uncle shuffled through boxes of clothing and shoes in the bottom of her closet to reveal a large, bronze-plated urn cast into the shape of a golf bag. She wanted to have him forever, so we hid him under the shoes, they said. My mom looked as if she was attempting to contain a mouthful of marbles while sneezing. The urn was set on a side table now, making us a room of six. Aunt, uncle, mom, me, dead but still breathing grandma and dead but in a golf bag, grandpa. It's a very nice urn, I said. It is, said my uncle. I wonder if we could put her in there too. In the golf bag, questioned my mom. Will they want to be together forever, said my aunt. Without so much as skipping a beat, my uncle reached into his pocket and revealed a small Swiss army knife attached to his keys. Do not open that urn in here right now, said my mom. We laughed. The anxiety in my stomach was momentarily replaced with such excitable glee that I could have opened that urn with my teeth. The nurse returned to the room with paperwork that she needed everyone to sign. We asked if she could turn off the respirator while she was there, and with a flip of the switch, the room went silent for the very first time. I'm gonna need some whiskey after this, said my uncle. We said our goodbyes in the parking lot before the funeral home people arrived to take grandma away. According to the care staff, watching a body leave the building in a bag is not good for anyone. In the parking lot, my mom and I were quiet. They're gonna put grandma in that golf bag, she said.  Thanks very much.