"You hear that," cried Mrs. Mr. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. Mr. I ought to have gone long ago. “Kick aht at ‘em!” though, indeed, she went now with Christian meekness, resenting only the thrusting policemen’s hands. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. "Thanks.
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