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“What do you want to go out here for, Lucy?” He 217 asked. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers.
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