The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. He gripped the window-sill behind him. \" Cathy beamed.
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