“So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. ” Lucy commented as the mud was smoothed around the grave site. My Mom and Dad were on the brink of divorce, what else is new, they still are. They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam.
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