"Did I hear you …" began McClintock. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands.
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