"Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ‘And nnever would you have f-found it. ” He stopped and said earnestly: “It is the chief thing in life, and everything else goes down before it. He was the junior of both his sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society.
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