"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. I tried it myself, Sir. “Don’t you care for Mr. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. It wouldn't do to say that she was from the hospital. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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