" "I never heard of anybody who could," declared McClintock. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Mr. Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,—for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,—he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,—to all which Black Mary readily agreed,—he departed with a heart lightened of half its load. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. My father was Colonel Pellissier. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded.
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