At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. "From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. "Gracious Heavens! this is more wonderful than all the rest," cried the carpenter, rubbing his eyes.
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