"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. I always told you some accident would happen. 97 “For what, kiddo?” Larry turned his head slightly to one side. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. I’ve never had these crying fits before.
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