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Mr. Wopp, goaded to desperation, breathed audibly his opinion regarding pipe-fitting. Diogenes in one of his periodical excursions from his tub would have been glad to category that remark as an honest man’s attitude, at least toward certain jobs. “I was ten in January, the twelfth,” May Nell replied, with no pride in her tone; she was always older than those of her size. Yet she was not prepared for the gasps and backward movement of the twins. “You remember that story about a man who died for love of a girl because he knew he ought not to marry her? I thought that sort kind of noble, but you said there was nobler. Do you remember?”.

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“I’ll not make a noise, and I’ll—I’ll try not to cry; but I’m afraid I’ll ha-have t-to,” she faltered, struggling to hide her eyes that grew moist in spite of herself. “The p’licemen do hev a fine look,” agreed Mrs. Wopp. “Fine feathers causes fine birds. Sometimes when the feathers is taken orff there aint nothin’ much left. That Plymouth Rock hen I plucked yesterday looked good walkin’ round the yard, but, Lan’ Sakes! when I’d plucked her she was nothin’ but skin an’ bones.” The good lady had no desire to underrate that useful body of men, the guardians of the law, but she considered it wise to exercise a constantly restraining influence on the vanities of youth. “You know that bad, old, half-tailed Tom that whips every cat in town but Geewhillikins and Flash and Sir Thomas—” “Here, you poor darling, take mine! And don’t be afraid—you’ll find your mother before long.” Edith’s words were brave, but her own eyes were moist..