"Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. But she did not believe he would do that. "How is Mr. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. Mother and Son XI.
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