Sheppard was committed to the earth. "Did you write it?" "No. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. Naturally it all came out then. Spurling had retired for the night. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. "I'll pledge you in that toast with all my heart. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all.
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