Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. " "Not if it will hurt her.
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