" "Exactly my sentiments," rejoined Blueskin. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. I can't invent; the thing won't come. E below. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents.
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