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Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. “You poor little girl!” he cried. 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. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful.

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