and see, there is a sixpence for yourself."

"Oh, _thank_ you, sir!" exclaimed the child, opening her eyes with such
a look of surprised joy that Mr Blurt felt comforted in his
difficulties, and resolved to face them like a man, do his duty, and
take the consequences.

He was a good deal relieved, however, to find that no one else came into
the shop during the remainder of that day. As he sat and watched the
never-ceasing stream of people pass the windows, almost without casting
a glance at the ornithological specimens that stood rampant there, he
required no further evidence that the business had already gone to that
figurative state of destruction styled "the dogs." The only human
beings in London who took the smallest notice of him or his premises
were the street boys, some of whom occasionally flattened their noses on
a pane of glass, and returned looks of, if possible, exaggerated
surprise at the owl, while others put their heads inside the door,
yelled in derision, and went placidly away. Dogs also favoured him with
a passing glance, and one or two, with sporting tendencies, seemed about
to point at the game inside, but thought better of it, and went off.

At intervals the patient man called Mrs Murridge to mind the shop,
while he went up-stairs. Sometimes he found the invalid dozing,
sometimes fretting at the thoughts of the confusion about his letters.

"If they _all_ went astray one could understand it," he would say,
passing his hand wearily over his brow, "because that would show that
one cause went on producing one result, but sometimes letters come
right, at other times they don't come at all."

"But how d'you find out about those that don't come at all?" asked his
brother.

"By writing to know why letters have not been replied to, and getting
answers to say that they _have_ been replied to," said the invalid.
"It's very perplexing, Enoch, and I've lost a deal of money by it. I
wouldn't mind so much if I was well, but--"

"There, now, you're getting excited again, Fred; you _must not_ speak
about business matters. Haven't I promised to take it in hand? and I'll
investigate this matter to the bottom. I'll write to the Secretary of
the General Post-Office. I'll go down to St. Martin's-le-Grand and see
him myself, and if he don't clear it up I'll write letters to the
_Times_ until I bu'st up the British Post-Office altogether; so make
your mind easy, Fred, else I'll forsake you and go right awa