ou. What's the matter?
Anybody at home ill?"

"No! I've only an aunt."

"Is it the one and only girl in all the world?"

Reggie nodded, and a deep flush swept over his face. "She's in
trouble. Her little sister has been stolen," he said, feeling some
explanation was due.

"Does she care for you?"

"No, I don't think so," said Reggie sadly, "but I should like to go.
It's all I can do, and it doesn't matter about my part of it, any
way."

"You shall go!" said the Manager quietly. "You shall go by to-night's
mail. Perhaps things will be better than you fear. You'll be in London
this time to-morrow morning."

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MEETING OF THE WAYS.

Jim could not forget Harry all day. The hours seemed to drag, and
again and again he caught himself wondering if the time seemed as long
to the little prisoner, shut within his four walls, with no one to
speak to. He determined to go home immediately after his work and take
the child for a tram-ride. Even his dinner beer tasted bitter to him
to-day, and when he left his work and turned his steps homewards he
still had fourpence of his precious sixpence left, wherewith to pay
the tram fare.

He was annoyed to find that Jane had not returned, and that there was
no supper ready; but he ate what he could find and made a cup of tea.

"I'm going to take you on a tram, Harry," he said, laying his hand
affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "Why, child!" he added in
astonishment, "your coat's wet! What have you been doing?"

Harry's face clouded. He had forgotten the broken jug for a few
minutes in the joy of his uncle's return.

"I broke aunt's jug," he said faintly, "and I all got wetted."

Jim got up and went to inspect the extent of the damage, and he
whistled when he saw it.

"Aunt will whip me," said Harry mournfully.

"She'd better not!" said Jim fiercely; "it's _my_ jug. I'll get
another on Saturday. Come, let's get ready and be gone before she
comes in."

He rubbed his hand over Harry again consideringly. His knickers had
dried upon him, but his coat was still very damp.

"You ought to put something else on," said Jim. "What have you got?"

"There's my frock," cried Harry eagerly, "my little frock, what mother
made. It's in that box."

Jim pulled out the box and helped Harry strip off the wet coat. The
child gave a little shiver, but Jim scarcely noticed it then. He was
in a hurry to be off, and in a minute Harry was arrayed in the frock
ove