The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. Besides, it was under false pretences.
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