High-piled with haryest-sheaTes ? "
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he grandfather looked puzzled; but thechange in his face was a good one, — it was notas if his mind toiled for a meaning. '* There,now," he said in a low voice, " I can make out* butterfly,' — that 's English ; but all the rest ofit, you might as well put it in this here lingo theJews talk, for all me. It 's some of this bookEnglish, likely, only it sounds pretty. I canhear that, — it's pretty. She's got such avoice I " Here, perhaps, was an opening out of thelabyrinth : he was not all taken up with hiswretched possession ; his grand-daughter was thesame to him, and he the same to her, as ever.That thing might be there, all the time, in hisbrain ; but woidd it not be possible to draw himaway from it? There was a hush, for a shortwhile, for the grandfather was listening. 70 ABRAM VAN ZANDT,
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