“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. It is not a dissipated face. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. As Austin rose to execute his principal's commands, and usher the women to the gate, Mrs. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. " "Don't be too sure of that," rejoined Kneebone, snatching up the staff, and aiming a blow at his head, which was fortunately warded off by Mrs.
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