"Dead!" echoed the boy. "Where?" she cried. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. Amiable and good-looking. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls.
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