"By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer. " "Ah!" ejaculated the widow, hiding her face. He has a grand time. It's a sorry world," he went on. It was after all a momentary affair. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order.
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