I'm glad that gell 'll git rest frum her mills an' her Houses o' Deviltry,--she's got gumption fur a dozen women." He went on muttering, as he gathered up his pint-pot and bottle,-- "I'm goin' to send my Tim to college soon's the thing's in runnin' order.

Lord! what a lawyer that boy'll make!" Mrs.Howth's brain was still muddled.
"You are better pleased than you were at Lincoln's election," she observed, placidly.
"Lincoln be darned!" he broke out, forgetting the teachings of Mr.
Clinche.

"Now, Mem, dun't ye muddle the mester's brain t'-night wi' 't, I say.

I'm goin' t' 'xperiment myself a bit." Which he did, accordingly,--shutting himself up in the smoke-house and burning the compound in divers sconces and Wide-Awake torches, giving up the entire night to his diabolical orgies.
Mrs.Howth did not tell the master; for one reason: it took a long time for so stupendous an idea to penetrate the good lady's brain; and for another: her motherly heart was touched by another story than this Aladdin's lamp of Joel's wherein burned petroleum.

She watched from her window until she saw Holmes crossing the icy road: there was a little bitterness, I confess, in the thought that he had taken her child from her; but the prayer that rose for them both took her whole woman's heart with it.
The road was rough over the hills; the wind that struck Holmes's face bitingly keen: perhaps the life coming for him would be as cold a struggle, having not only poverty to conquer, but himself.