The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this person.
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