"Is your father alive?" "No," returned Thames; "he was assassinated while I was an infant. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you.
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