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. “Your father is dead too, I believe,” he continued, “and your mother. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. “There were some Hampshire Pellissiers. ” He said flatly. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed.
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