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. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. They are not your children, they never were. You know—I worship you. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it.
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