"What has become of Jack Sheppard?" "Devil knows!" answered Quilt; "but I believe he's in the hands of Blueskin, so there's no doubt he'll soon be on the high-road to Tyburn. Wood," returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; "you're a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing—rather well. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. A cold shiver came over her. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense.
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