But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. "Friday!" echoed Mrs. . Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. A radiant smile astonished him. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. ‘Not here. He glanced at his watch. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica.
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