"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. " "You think so, eh?" chuckled Shotbolt, who was eagerly perusing the reward, and congratulating himself upon his caution; "you think so—ha! ha! Well, don't go to bed, that's all. Both carried packages of books and magazines. We hide it bravely, but so it is. That's the sort of fool your nephew is!" "Not even a good time!" said the aunt, whimsically, as she stuffed the bills into her reticule. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose.
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