I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. Probably a sick man's whim. "My stars! here's a pretty lullaby-cheat to make a fuss about—ho! ho!" "Deal with me as you think proper, gentlemen," exclaimed Wood; "but, for mercy's sake don't harm the child! Let it be taken to its mother.
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