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He looked the boy over with interest. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. “I think I ought to have one. " Almost the identical words of the boy. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop.
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