Unless they remind him now and then not to. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time.
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