I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. “Come, daddy,” said Ann Veronica, following her husband and Miss Stanley; and in the fulness of her heart she gave a friendly squeeze to the parental arm. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. “It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug.
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