“Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. " "Hoddy," she repeated. Michelle answered the door. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam.
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