"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. ’ Tears glistened in her eyes. I'll be quiet. Even the children jeer. Ramage, I came here—I didn’t suppose for one moment you would dare —” “Nonsense! That is your mistake! You are too intellectual. "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. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. I'm burning up. Just then—I was nervous. They were those of the Irish watchman.
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