“She contrives somehow to strike the personal note in an amazing manner. He did not particularly care. I shall count it a privilege. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. " "A very sufficient reason," answered the jailer.
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