The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. Then the distant relationship to Miss Stanley gave them a slight but pleasant sense of proprietorship in the girl. The floor was thickly strewn with sawdust and shavings; and across the room ran a long and wide bench, furnished at one end with a powerful vice; next to which three nails driven into the boards served, it would appear from the lump of unconsumed tallow left in their custody, as a substitute for a candlestick. Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way through the fields; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child.
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