The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. That's a queer yarn. Our land brings us in nothing. . This man and he were alike, and about the same age. I tell you once more, I'll say and do nothing to get you into trouble. ” “The difficulties on my own side I can deal with,” he answered. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it.
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