The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. "I wouldn't give a betel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believed himself in the right. His tone was kind and sympathetic. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Could you just let me in? I have a surprise for him.
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