But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. Wood, delighted at the idea. " "Thank'ee, Sir," grinned Sheppard. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. After all, old P. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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