\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. Send for Mr. "By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. “I get that a lot. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. The fever came. “You have the temperament,” he said. “Morning, Mom. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. .
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