“You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. “Let’s go. . I sha'n't cry any more. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way.
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