TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
guidly with a much trimmed handkerchief and said it had turned her quite faint. No one knew the snares of New York better than she—it was a terrible place for a poor, unprotected girl. She was a statuesque beauty with dark hair, parted in the middle of a very white forehead, and when she lowered her eyelids and sighed the effect was very fine. It may have been the too obvious interest displayed by Mr. Burns in these charms which caused the little stenographer to remark that as Miss Perkins had not come in until it was known that the children were found she did not see why she should have wanted to faint at that late hour.
Mr. Burns listened gallantly and sympathized with each in turn before he proceeded to describe the arrival of the pair at the station and to retail the cabman’s story of Josephine with great vivacity. The prodigal was sound
