The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. ’ Lucilla burst into laughter and clapped her hands. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find.
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