Mike was in his blue jeans and a tee-shirt, and Lucy, knowing that Mrs. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr.
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