She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. CHAPTER XI. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. Stanley. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. “Do you happen to know whether she is supposed to be here?” “Very likely indeed,” Captain Fred Meddoes answered, lighting a cigarette. Look here.
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