5. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. "Heed her not. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. " "Never!" cried Mrs. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival.
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