Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession. F. “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” “I have been thinking while you have been talking. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting.
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