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When Mrs. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. "Bring him out, Quilt. "What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. To perdition with them all. " "I declare I don't know what to do," said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. I mean—I mean to do what I can. It is generally deficient in the qualities it prides itself upon most. .
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