"So it appears," replied Marvel. \" She replied. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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