She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. The doctor said you wrote. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. The job is easy. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere.
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