"What does he say?" roared the long drover. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Montague Hill, and I do not think that under those circumstances I should be long about it. Petals!. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you.
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