But, alas! Ah Cum shrugged philosophically. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. The release was so great that she felt tears spring from her eyes. Stanley in person. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. Here one might live the life of golden days.
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