48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. "Your son," answered the boy. \"Look at how fair he is! The Lord has blessed Isobella with a fine son. " "He may learn how to defeat yours," replied Jack.
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