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“The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. The practice has been common for thousands of years. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield.
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