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Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way. ’ The woman shrugged helpless shoulders, looking to her husband. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. He opened the drawer of the writing table. "I'm glad to find I'm right. ‘Allow me.
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