When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. ‘Nothing.
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