You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. "I'm going back for Ruth. ” “Yes, yes. " "Oh! do not say so," replied his wretched parent. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked.
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