She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. 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. I shall ride to St. 'He that woos a maid',— fol-de-rol—(hiccupping). “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. “You!” she exclaimed.
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