. " As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife. But he was not a father one could make much of. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. You hurt the child. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall.
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