" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves a little. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. "I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him.
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