CHAPTER IV. “Mr. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. I'm entirely at your service. ’ ‘So I see. .
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