Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. Come down with me to the Lodge directly. "Your sympathy is being wasted. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. " "And with some justice," replied Thornhill, drily.
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