"Cinderadustmat!" exclaimed Tomb. "Let me hear you, oh! let me hear you say the word again!"
"Home," said the young fellow, gazing at the ripe ockapillies hanging overhead.
Mastering his ill-concealed emotion, T. T. rose and strode—(when I say strode—T. T. never walked: he strolled, strutted, strode, or stepped, invariably)—towards the house.
Threw open the door!! xxxxxx! o! z! What a sight met his eyes!!
