From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxious to improve my acquaintance with her.
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