She admitted her pleasure to Ramage. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. As her belly swelled, so did he. “Not a bit. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. ’ He added pointedly, ‘Early this morning that were. " This expression was old in Ruth's ears. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen.
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