Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. Pity you aren’t under my command. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out "Mother!" "Who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed. He took the first step toward the stairs, and met the restraining hand of McClintock. My mother really wants to meet you.
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