“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. “Are you with us?” said the tired woman. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. “No!” he said aloud at last. She pushed the former and it opened. “Bring any new songs you may have. Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. .
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