" "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. She laughed a little contemptuously. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. ’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier.
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