In this announcement of his plain name appeared, I fancy, more pride than humility.
"Very well, I will remember," answered the boy fearlessly, though with an amused twist of his mouth, speedily restrained.

"And now, Abel Fletcher, I shall be willing and thankful for any work you can give me." "We'll see about it." I looked gratefully and hopefully at my father--but his next words rather modified my pleasure.
"Phineas, one of my men at the tan-yard has gone and 'listed this day--left an honest livelihood to be a paid cut-throat.

Now, if I could get a lad--one too young to be caught hold of at every pot-house by that man of blood, the recruiting sergeant--Dost thee think this lad is fit to take the place ?" "Whose place, father ?" "Bill Watkins'." I was dumb-foundered! I had occasionally seen the said Bill Watkins, whose business it was to collect the skins which my father had bought from the farmers round about.

A distinct vision presented itself to me of Bill and his cart, from which dangled the sanguinary exuviae of defunct animals, while in front the said Bill sat enthroned, dirty-clad, and dirty-handed, with his pipe in his mouth.

The idea of John Halifax in such a position was not agreeable.
"But, father--" He read deprecation in my looks--alas! he knew too well how I disliked the tan-yard and all belonging to it.