" "You're a noble-hearted little fellow, Thames," rejoined Wood, casting a look of pride and affection at his adopted son, whose head he gently patted; "and give promise of a glorious manhood. Mr. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable.
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