He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. Such a time that it takes for them to go. The pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid.
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