His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. . . She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. “On the stage? Yes. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I please. "Do you think I'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I. We come out into the world, some of us—” She paused.
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