"

The blacksmith obeyed, and cast poor Master Thomas loose. As he
staggered away and looked back at his tormentor, his countenance assumed
an expression which made Mr. Wood say, grasping hold of Macshane's
arm, "It's the boy, it's the boy! When his mother gave Galgenstein the
laudanum, she had the self-same look with her!"

"Had she really now?" said Mr. Macshane. "And pree, Meejor, who WAS his
mother?"

"Mrs. Cat, you fool!" answered Wood.

"Then, upon my secred word of honour, she has a mighty fine KITTEN
anyhow, my dear. Aha!"

"They don't DROWN such kittens," said Mr. Wood, archly; and Macshane,
taking the allusion, clapped his finger to his nose in token of perfect
approbation of his commander's sentiment.

While the blacksmith was shoeing the horse, Mr. Wood asked him many
questions concerning the lad whom he had just been chastising, and
succeeded, beyond a doubt, in establishing his identity with the child
whom Catherine Hall had brought into the world seven years since.
Billings told him of all the virtues of his wife, and the manifold
crimes of the lad: how he stole, and fought, and lied, and swore; and
though the youngest under his roof, exercised the most baneful influence
over all the rest of his family. He was determined at last, he said, to
put him to the parish, for he did not dare to keep him.

"He's a fine whelp, and would fetch ten pieces in Virginny," sighed the
Ensign.

"Crimp, of Bristol, would give five for him," said Mr. Wood, ruminating.

"Why not take him?" said the Ensign.

"Faith, why not?" said Mr. Wood. "His keep, meanwhile, will not be
sixpence a day." Then turning round to the blacksmith, "Mr. Billings,"
said he, "you will be surprised, perhaps, to hear that I know everything
regarding that poor lad's history. His mother was an unfortunate lady
of high family, now no more; his father a German nobleman, Count de
Galgenstein by name."

"The very man!" said Billings: "a young, fair-haired man, who came here
with the child, and a dragoon sergeant."

"Count de Galgenstein by name, who, on the point of death, recommended
the infant to me."

"And did he pay you seven years' boarding?" said Mr. Billings, who was
quite alive at the very idea.

"Alas, sir, not a jot! He died, sir, six hundred pounds in my debt;
didn't he, Ensign?"

"Six hundred, upon my secred honour! I remember when he got into the
house along with the poli--"

"Psha! what matters it?" here broke out Mr. Woo