" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. “We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. . Sc. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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