” “Certainly,” Mrs. She drew it out with shaking fingers. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. " "Here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. "Come to buy off Jack Sheppard, I suppose," replied the fellow. .
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