\" \"Good night, Mom. “I wonder if it is. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. Jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his appearance, ran off to a neighbouring house. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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