’ ‘Eh bien. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. But Gerald kept to a casual note.
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