Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. "Help! help!" "You call in vain," returned Kneebone. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs.
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