Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. " "It's all right, pals," cried Baptist, in a loud tone; "the gentlemen and I have settled matters. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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