h advantage to the pupils under my care, wished to make a job--
yes, sir--of a charity; I could not consent to such deeds, and I
resigned."

"And you have been in London ever since?"

"No, sir; I repaired to the small village of Grassford, where I set up a
school, but circumstances compelled me to resign, and I am now about to
seek for employment in another hemisphere; in short, I have an idea of
going out to New South Wales as a preceptor. I understand they are in
great want of tuition in that quarter."

"I should think so," replied McShane; "and they have a great deal to
unlearn as well as to learn."

"I speak of the junior branches--the scions or offsets, I may say--born
in the colony, and who I trust, will prove that crime is not
hereditary."

"Well, I wish you luck, sir," replied McShane; "you must oblige me by
taking another glass, for I never shall be able to finish this decanter
myself."

"I gladly avail myself of the pleasure of your company, sir."

As the reader is well aware that Furness was an intemperate man, it is
not surprising that he accepted the offer; and before the second glass
was finished, the ale and brandy had begun to have the effect, and he
had become very communicative.

"What was the name of the village which you stated you had resided in
lately, sir?" inquired McShane.

"The village of Grassford."

"There is something I recollect about that village; let me see--
something that I read in the newspapers. I remember now--it was the
murder of a pedlar."

"Very true, sir, such a circumstance did take place; it was a dreadful
affair--and, what is more strange, committed by a mere child, who
absconded."

"Indeed! What was his name?"

"Rushbrook, sir; his father was a well-known poacher--a man who had been
in the army, and had a pension for wounds. There is an old saying, sir,
of high authority--`Bring up a child in the way he should go, and he
will not depart from it.' I instructed that boy, sir; but alas! what
avails the instruction of a preceptor when a father leads a child into
evil ways?"

"That's the truth, and no mistake," replied McShane. "So the boy ran
away? Yes; I recollect now. And what became of the father?"

"The father, sir, and mother have since left the village, and gone
nobody knows where."

"Indeed! are you sure of that?"

"Quite sure, sir; for I was most anxious to discover them, and took
great pains, but without success."

"What did the people s