You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. "Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist.
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