"And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature.
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