It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms.
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