"'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. Observing Spurlock's spellbound attitude, he clapped the boy on the shoulder. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. “I want to know who you are. Sir John hesitated. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing.
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