"You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. "Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. 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. " Further remonstrance, however, was cut short by the sudden entrance of Mrs. ’ ‘You certain? She’s a thought too volatile for my money. .
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