“What a little brick!” he murmured. She did not forge a note. " "Iss, Massa Austin," replied the black. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. . But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. I have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase.
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