"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. . He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. If anyone noticed, he did not report the event. "Where did you learn the song I heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone.
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