She had never thought of him at all in that way before. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea that it contained a tip. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. “Allow me.
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