The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. " "I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father.
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