"He said, by way of comfort, I suppose, after the fright he gave me at first, that the child would find a friend within twenty-four hours, who would stand by him through life. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. And for me there is only one treasure-house. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends.
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