"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. The gentleman with the red beard will relieve you of your prisoner. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. "Auntie?" he cried. ’ ‘So I see. What’s that?” They both stood listening. That's my maxim; and it's the maxim of every honest man. Why don't you try to find out how the every-day Chinese lives, how he treats his family, what his normal habits are, his hopes, his ambitions? Why don't you come to China as I went to America—with an open mind?" "You're on," said O'Higgins, briskly. Mrs.
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