I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. "Now, let's see who'll dare to take him down," she cried. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. ” That was the quintessence of her brother Roddy.
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