"My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. Birthdays just ain’t the same once you get old kiddo. "I should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove. " "Never mind it, my dear Mrs. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight.
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