"Coming!" cried Blueskin, who was still lingering with Rachel. CHAPTER XXII. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Lucia liked the doctor though, and he seemed to be very fond of her too. And the less “anything” happened the better. But if he starts a long jog, his name is Dennis.
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