She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. All the talk in the world would not describe Ruth. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. “It’s as broad as life,” said Mr. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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