“I feel shabby and disgraced. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. Sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son. " "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs. “What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river. "A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. "Before to-morrow morning I will ascertain what has become of Thames, or perish in the attempt. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday.
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