" "I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. Probably his first serious bout with John Barleycorn. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand. Her thin fingers were armed with nails as long as the talons of a bird. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. Time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. ” “I have been through dozens of foster parents, John.
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