" "It is a diamond," said the lady, in an agony of distress,—"the child!" "A diamond! Here, take the kid," cried Blueskin, slipping the infant adroitly under her scarf. "Mr. Not a word passed between them. I’ve had it, Sheila. All the turnkeys were assembled. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. “That is as you will,” she said. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. "How?" cried her brother, starting. Determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession.
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