Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!" "Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. ” “Every one hasn’t the Gift. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done.
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