It is Thérèse. 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. It was evident the lady’s servant knew his mistress, for he had come equipped with a tray upon which reposed a decanter and two glasses. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. Our land brings us in nothing. “Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes. “I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the ‘Unusual’ with you.
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