You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. "Yes; I speak English. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest.
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