Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. " "You're a noble-hearted little fellow, Thames," rejoined Wood, casting a look of pride and affection at his adopted son, whose head he gently patted; "and give promise of a glorious manhood. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms. .
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