She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. . "What do you mean?" cried Winifred in alarm. . "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. Bu I can speak to that point. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool.
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