"Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. He'll settle it bravely. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. “Oh, you know,” she said. " "Mother!" cried Jack, in a broken voice. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived.
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