"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long. ’ ‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’ ‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought. ” She exhaled through her mouth and could not bring her eyes to meet his. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. " "Can you make me honest?" cried Jack.
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