Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. That might happen on her birthday—in August. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. " Amazed at the boy's assurance, Wood left off boxing his ears for a moment, and, looking at him steadfastly, said in a grave tone, "Jack, Jack, you'll come to be hanged!" "Better be hanged than hen-pecked," retorted the lad with a malicious grin.
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