” She said. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. Again he rushed. His face was downcast. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. ’ She sighed.
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