“Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. 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. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. And no ill-chances. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. Wood. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. " "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies.
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