“I can’t! He appears to be a most immovable person. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. I am very good at guessing names. There was plenty of sweet water.
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