Trenchard glanced at the document. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. No one will ever love you as I love you now. "Bravo," cried Sheppard, examining its contents, which proved to be a file, a chisel, two or three gimblets, and a piercer. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. I know my son's voice too well.
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