Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. "His lordship desires me to say—ough! ough!" Fresh groans and hisses. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. " "You may go, and welcome, Madam!" rejoined Kneebone, spitefully.
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