Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. She turned her head to each side. “A serious question. " "I'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. It was locked. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clockfaces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,— broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said.
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