Nor was he long in making it available. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. It amounted to two-and-twenty pounds. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. “What do you mean?” she asked.
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