"The key," replied the widow. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. Her father had determined on a new line. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose.
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