"Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Also Lucy, who had been so much her friend. F. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it.
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