“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding.
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