part of the hedge and was gone, leaving poor Tottie
in a state of bewildered anxiety on the other side.

Under the influence of fear Tottie told the lies her father had bid her
tell, and thereafter dwelt at Rosebud Cottage with an evil conscience
and a heavy heart.

Having gained the high-road, Mr Bones sauntered easily to the railway
station, took a third-class ticket for Charing Cross, and in due time
found himself passing along the Strand. In the course of that journey
poor little Floppart lay on its back in the bottom of its captor's
pocket, with a finger and thumb gently pressing her windpipe. Whenever
she became restive, the finger and thumb tightened, and this with such
unvarying regularity that she soon came to understand the advantage of
lying still. She did, however, make sundry attempts to escape--once
very violently, when the guard was opening the carriage-door to let Mr
Bones enter, and again almost as violently at Charing Cross, when Mr
Bones got out. Indeed, the dog had well-nigh got off, and was restored
to its former place and position with difficulty.

Turning into Chancery Lane, and crossing over to Holborn, Abel Bones
continued his way to Newgate, where, appropriately enough, he stopped
and gazed grimly up at the massive walls.

"Don't be in a 'urry," said a very small boy, with dirt and daring in
equal proportions on his face, "it'll wait for you."

Mr Bones made a tremendous demonstration of an intention to rush at the
boy, who precipitately fled, and the former passed quietly on.

At St. Martin's-le-Grand he paused again.

"Strange," he muttered, "there seems to be some sort o' fate as links me
wi' that Post-Office. It was here I began my London life as a porter,
and lost my situation because the Postmaster-General couldn't see the
propriety of my opening letters that contained coin and postage-stamps
and fi'-pun' notes, which was quite unreasonable, for I had a special
talent that way, and even the clargy tell us that our talents was given
us to be used. It wasn't far from here where I sot my little nephy
down, that time I got rid of him, and it was goin' up these wery steps I
met with the man I'm tryin' my best to bring to grief, an' that same man
wants to marry one of the girls in the Post-Office, and now, I find, has
saved my Tot from bein' burnt alive! Wery odd! It was here, too,
that--"

Floppart at this moment turned the flow of his meditations by making a
final and despera