You are to come home. 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. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. I've sent for the priest. What need had she of Gerald, or anyone? Yet, if he was here, would he not make some foolish game with her and make her laugh? Instead of behaving in this fashion so stupide, and crying, crying, crying. But I can give it its name now. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. ” “Why?” Mr. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any.
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