Judge (incredulously)—You will have some difficulty in proving that.
Lady (excitedly)—You’ll find hard to prove the contrary, as the church register which contained the entry of my name was burned in the year 1845.
His Tale of Woe.
The little boy was crying and his tears touched the heart of the charitably inclined lady; he was so small and seemed to be in such distress.
“Don’t cry, little boy,” she said, soothingly. “Dry your eyes and tell me what the trouble is. Did some of the big boys hurt you?”
“No’m,” replied the waif, still sobbing.
“Are you sick or hungry?” she persisted.
“No’m.”
“Did your father beat you for something?”
“No’m, but he will.”