“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?”