” “Ye—e—es. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. ” “That’s horrible!” He gasped. Spurlock slept on. " On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill.
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