"Beg pardon, Sir Rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from Mr. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. “You have even her name. The second look told me I was wrong.
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