Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. They’ve just got to keep white. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. Gerald lost his head. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. Wood in the deepest mourning. You don’t have to live forever to understand that.
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