“What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. Mr. Dump and the village authorities, it was agreed to lock up the prisoner in the cage. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday.
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