"Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. " Amazed at the boy's assurance, Wood left off boxing his ears for a moment, and, looking at him steadfastly, said in a grave tone, "Jack, Jack, you'll come to be hanged!" "Better be hanged than hen-pecked," retorted the lad with a malicious grin. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.
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