“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. She brought the cups of cocoa back to the bedroom. He told her something about music, the great world outside. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. "I never wear false whiskers," went on O'Higgins.
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