Jack Sheppard | Page 4

other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir."
"Ay, marry," replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror's evil augury respecting the infant. "What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?" asked he.
"From a black mole under the child's right ear, shaped like a coffin, which is a bad sign; and a deep line just above the middle of the left thumb, meeting round about in the form of a noose, which is a worse," replied Mrs. Sheppard. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir--but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered."
"Lord bless us!" ejaculated Wood, "how shocking! No, I did not know that."
"You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow.
"See the devil!--not I," cried Wood impatiently. "I didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, Joan."
"Fooled or not," returned Mrs. Sheppard mysteriously, "old Van told me one thing which has come true already."
"What's that?" asked Wood with some curiosity.
"He said, by way of comfort, I suppose, after the fright he gave me at first, that the child would find a friend within twenty-four hours, who would stand by him through life."
"A friend is not so soon gained as lost," replied Wood; "but how has the prediction been fulfilled, Joan, eh?"
"I thought you would have guessed, Sir," replied the widow, timidly. "I'm sure little Jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than I would have ventured to say for him yesterday. However, I've not told you all; for old Van did say something about the child saving his new-found friend's life at the time of meeting; but how that's to happen, I'm sure I can't guess."
"Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. "It's not very likely that a babby of nine months old will save my life, if I'm to be his friend, as you seem to say, Mrs. Sheppard. But I've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will I, unless he turns out an honest lad,--mind that. 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. As long as your son observes that precept I'll befriend him, but no longer."
"I don't desire it, Sir," replied Mrs. Sheppard, meekly.
"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,--'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow.' But I don't value that, because I think it applies to one who marries a widow with encumbrances; and that's not my case, you know."
"Well, Sir," gasped Mrs. Sheppard.
"Well, my dear, I've a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable. All I can say is, it's well meant; and I may add, I'd have made it five minutes ago, if you'd given me the opportunity."
"Pray come to the point, Sir," said Mrs. Sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble.
"I am coming to the point, Joan. The more haste, the worse speed--better the feet slip than the tongue. However, to cut a long matter short, my proposal's this:--I've taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as I've no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of Mrs. Wood, (for I never do anything without consulting my better half,) I'll take the boy, educate him, and bring him up to my own business of a carpenter."
The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast.
"Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?--silence gives consent, eh?"
Mrs. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion.
"Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest.
"I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears;