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The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. Earles answered, glibly. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. Then came the great day. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out.
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