The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. "Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter.
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