Australia."

They all went upstairs together, except the policeman, whose question
was answered by a recital of the events of the night, and the present of
a sovereign.

"Bring down the boy, and let me look at his dear little face," said old
Dryce, when they were sitting round the fire.

The child was brought down tenderly, and still asleep.

"God bless him!" said the bearded stranger. "He's not like either of us,
Aggy."

"Like either of you?" said Mr. Dryce, surprised. "How should he be like
your husband, Mrs. Harris?"

"Don't you know me, sir," said the stranger, taking Mr. Dryce's hand and
sitting in the firelight. "My name is Robert Dryce, and this is my
child, whose mother left it to the mercy of Heaven, and found that it
had reached its natural home. Forgive us, sir, for our child's sake."

Old Dryce was a shrewd man, but it took an hour to make him understand
it all; events had come about so strangely.

"Well," said Robert at last, "I'm glad you were in time to save the
money."

"Confound the money!" ejaculated the old man; "at least, too much of
it," he added, correcting himself. "This baby's hand has unlocked more
treasures for me than all the Bank of England could count on a summer's
day."

------------------------------

"Oh, I shouldn't like to live in London always," said Kate Bell, whose
father was one of the large mill-owners at Barton. "I've been up twice
with papa, you know; but we lived in a great square where we could hear
the noise of the cabs all night, and of the carts and wagons as soon as
daylight came. And then there are such crowds of people in the streets;
and if you walk you are pushed about so, and if you ride you can't see
anything except from an open carriage. Except the theatre, where I went
twice, and the Zoological Gardens and the Crystal Palace, and Hyde Park,
where everybody goes before dinner, there's nothing to care for."

"Nothing to care for!" exclaimed Annie Bowers; "why, the streets and the
old historical buildings--Westminster Abbey, the Picture Galleries, the
great solemn churches, with monuments of poets and warriors, and the
constant life and movement and change, must be grand, if one only could
stay long enough to get over the feeling that you are only sight-seeing.
To be a part of it all, and to be able to go about quietly and live in
it, looking and thinking and making one's own pictures and one's own
romances of it, would be delightful