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When we got to Gloster she sprang hout of it as wild as a Tigris, and rusht to the station, up to the fatle Bench. "'My child, my child, shreex she, in a hoss, hot voice. 'Where's my infant? a little bewtifle child, with blue eyes, dear Mr. Policeman, give it me a thousand guineas for it.
Her great arms vent veeling about like a vinmill, as she cuffed and thumped poor Mary for taking her pa's part. Mary Shum, who was always a-crying before, didn't shed a tear now. "I will do it again," she said, "if Betsy insults my father." New thumps, new shreex; and the old horridan went on beatin the poor girl till she was quite exosted, and fell down on the sophy, puffin like a poppus.
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