Sheppard put out her arms mechanically. " "I see through your design, Jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but I don't like under-hand work. I've engaged to watch over you as a son, and I will do so as far as I'm able; but if you neglect my advice, what chance have I of benefitting you? On one point I've made up my mind—you shall either obey me, or leave me. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views.
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