Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. " With this assurance, and at the reiterated request of Thames, the little girl reluctantly withdrew. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. ’ Gerald grinned. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. It was 1582. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. .
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