"Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. Maggot, dealing him a blow, which stretched him senseless on the floor.
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