"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. Gina, the eleven year old, just couldn’t take it and she ran away. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Wood having disposed of the brandy, and pronounced himself much better, hurried close to the fire-side, and informed his friend in a few words of the inhospitable treatment he had experienced from the gentlemen of the Mint; whereupon Mr. “Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. “They might do you good,” she remarked.
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