She went to her own table and sat down. Carefully sustaining the child which, even in that terrible extremity, he had not the heart to abandon, he fell upon his knees, and, guiding himself with his right hand, crept slowly on. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. " "You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No.
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