Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. " "Heaven support me!" cried Mrs. ’ ‘Idiot. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. “I would rather put up with your own efforts, however clumsy. I have been imaging—” “Mr.
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