I meant to give him a drubbing. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. Ennison reeled, and almost fell. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Perhaps she was. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. "You've given him a broken head, I perceive.
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