“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. But that Chink, Ah Cum! O'Higgins chuckled as he passed into the hall and rested his hand on the newel-post of the staircase. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. If you want advice, your aunt is the person. Lonesomeness isn't my worry.
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