"Ja, ja, Muntmeester," said the Hollander, shaking his head in reply;—"very bad —very. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. My arm's nearly well again. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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