IN a small village, at some distance from London, lived a poor widow and her son, whose name was Jack. He was a bold, daring fellow, ready for any adventure which promised fun or amusement. He delighted in scrambling along the steepest and most inaccessible parts of the rocks and cliffs, in search of birds’ eggs, or anything else which caught his fancy or his eye ; he cared not a rush for tumbles or disasters of any kind. He would climb to the top of one of the highest trees overhanging some steep precipice, and lying along the swinging branches, wave his hat above his head, and scream with delight. All the boys in the neighborhood acknowledged him as their leader in all feats of dexterity and daring. Many a time he got into sad disgrace for enticing them from their work to follow him over hill and dale, through brooks and hedges, in some wild freak or other.
But it was very idle of Jack to spend all his time in fun and frolic ; he would not work or do anything useful, by which he might assist his mother in earning money to buy them food and clothing …
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