"Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. Why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us. He hated himself a little for it. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. “Can we watch television?” She asked. They do a good job, huh?” He smiled at her. Let us have no more of this humbug. CHAPTER VI.
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