In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. She understood. " But he searched in vain. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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