He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out. "I didn't know the machine had such stuff in it," said McClintock. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time.
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