A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. Hang the wench! Roding was right. “You remind me of a little blue stone I had once.
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