'Mrs. Not Trodger. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. " "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly. "I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild. " "How?" exclaimed the other. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. .
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