" "I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers," observed Wood. " The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described. Wood's boat bearing up towards him.
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