On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. " "I am," replied Jack, without hesitation; for he felt assured from the man's manner that he might confide in him. ’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism.
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