"You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. “Well?” she said. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. She studied the face and tried to visualize the body, clothed in the dress which had created the spinsters' astonishment. That is what my mother used to call me. It’s Providence.
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