" "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. “Mr. ’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. . . But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the light and little Mrs. Kind of knows it, too.
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