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"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. He noticed the two chairs close together. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. The trio exhibited that indecisive air with which Ah Cum was tolerably familiar. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die.
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