In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. I never ran away from anywhere with anybody anywhen. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. “Call me Cathy, John.
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