He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. I know my son's voice too well. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. Indeed, I've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. Splendidly.
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