"And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. That bruise will answer the same purpose. ” “But you thought you could forget him. People always rejoice at the misfortunes of others—never at their own! The droll dogs! how they must have enjoyed it!—ha! ha!" "I dare say they did. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation.
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