Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Another picture slid across her vision. "You read it, Ruth. . ’ A little sigh escaped her. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart.
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