Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. " And he proceeded to unfold his scheme to the woollen-draper. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. . How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. . ’ ‘Oh, don’t I? What do you have under all those petticoats, a holster?’ ‘But yes, and they are empty.
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