They must have a key. There ends my duty. She replied softly. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. "After all, I believe we Chinese have the right idea. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
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