must cast my interest into, and draw it out of,
the common stock."

Although he had arrived at his journey's end for the day by noon, he had
since insensibly walked about the town so far and so long that the
lamplighters were now at their work in the streets, and the shops were
sparkling up brilliantly. Thus reminded to turn towards his quarters, he
was in the act of doing so, when a very little hand crept into his, and a
very little voice said:

"O! If you please, I am lost."

He looked down, and saw a very little fair-haired girl.

"Yes," she said, confirming her words with a serious nod. "I am indeed.
I am lost."

Greatly perplexed, he stopped, looked about him for help, descried none,
and said, bending low: "Where do you live, my child?"

"I don't know where I live," she returned. "I am lost."

"What is your name?"

"Polly."

"What is your other name?"

The reply was prompt, but unintelligible.

Imitating the sound, as he caught it, he hazarded the guess, "Trivits?"

"O no!" said the child, shaking her head. "Nothing like that."

"Say it again, little one."

An unpromising business. For this time it had quite a different sound.

He made the venture: "Paddens?"

"O no!" said the child. "Nothing like that."

"Once more. Let us try it again, dear."

A most hopeless business. This time it swelled into four syllables. "It
can't be Tappitarver?" said Barbox Brothers, rubbing his head with his
hat in discomfiture.

"No! It ain't," the child quietly assented.

On her trying this unfortunate name once more, with extraordinary efforts
at distinctness, it swelled into eight syllables at least.

"Ah! I think," said Barbox Brothers, with a desperate air of resignation,
"that we had better give it up."

"But I am lost," said the child, nestling her little hand more closely in
his, "and you'll take care of me, won't you?"

If ever a man were disconcerted by division between compassion on the one
hand, and the very imbecility of irresolution on the other, here the man
was. "Lost!" he repeated, looking down at the child. "I am sure _I_ am.
What is to be done!"

"Where do _you_ live?" asked the child, looking up at him, wistfully.

"Over there," he answered, pointing vaguely in the direction of his
hotel.

"Hadn't we better go there?" said the child.

"Really," he replied, "I don't know but what we had."

So they set off, hand in hand. He, through comparison of himself against
his li