"Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room. At the period of this history, the main streets of the metropolis were but imperfectly lighted, while the less-frequented avenues were left in total obscurity; but, even at the present time, the maze of courts and alleys into which Wild now plunged, would have perplexed any one, not familiar with their intricacies, to thread them on a dark night. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. I said I’d do anything. You wish another name? Eh bien. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction.
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