Then abruptly Mr. "I beg pardon," he said. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. “Mr. Will you come sensibly, or shall I carry you? You are mine!" Ruth's peculiar education had not vitiated the primitive senses; they were always on guard; and in a moment such as this they rushed instantly to the surface. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr.
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