See, I will place it so on Dobbin's broad back, and then we can jog along easily together." Cherry, her fears allayed, and her imaginative fancy pleased by the termination to this adventure, chatted gaily to her tall companion; and as they neared the bridge with its many twinkling lights, she pointed out one of the houses in the middle, and told her companion that she dwelt there.

His face turned eagerly upon her at hearing that.
"I am right glad to hear it, for perchance you can then direct me to the dwelling of Master Martin Holt, the wool stapler, if he yet plies his trade there as his father did before him." "Martin Holt!" cried Cherry, eagerly interrupting.

"Why, good sir, Martin Holt is my father." The young man stopped short in amaze, and then said slowly, "Verily, this is a wondrous hap, for Martin Holt is mine own uncle.
I am Cuthbert Trevlyn, the son of his sister Bridget.".