‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. . . ‘I do not see at all. ” Mike said, with unsubtle jealousy. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. It was then, I am sure, empty. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him.
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