“You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. Wood, was examined. From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff. " "It's a queer girl. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. "I should like to see whether Blueskin is a little more composed. .
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