A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. " "We shall have a durty night on it, to a sartinty, landlord," observed an old oneeyed sailor, who sat smoking his pipe by the fire-side. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. " "I see. "Yes. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. She detected that the young officer’s shoulders tensed whenever she moved in the back of his 94 car. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust.
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