“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. My arm's nearly well again. Thames Darrell. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. ’ ‘You see, I am of them,’ she said seriously, ‘but not with them—yet.
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