His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. Both started. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. “You need not be alarmed,” he said. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. No, this was not reasonable. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps.
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