"Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. It is the same man, for he raved in the hospital, and they fetched me. “He tried it. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. He seemed happy with her, finding her proper and seemly. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. She could not apply it in this instance because she was not sure the application would be correct.
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