"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. ‘Certainly I have them with me. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. I wonder. "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it.
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