" "Jonathan Wild!" repeated the carpenter, trembling. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. . He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. This year—I’ve got it badly. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. There were two of them. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. Jack had well-nigh fallen too. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. There was a stain of wine upon her dress.
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