w, by some peculiarity in the tone of her husband's voice,
that he meant what he said, and was also satisfied.

"Now, Molly," said Bones, with a smile, "I want you to write a letter
for me, so get another sheet of paper, if you can; Mr Aspel used up my
last one."

A sheet was procured from a neighbouring tobacconist. Mrs Bones always
acted as her husband's amanuensis (although he wrote very much better
than she did), either because he was lazy, or because he entertained
some fear of his handwriting being recognised by his enemies the police!
Squaring her elbows, and with her head very much on one side--almost
reposing on the left arm--Mrs Bones produced a series of hieroglyphics
which might have been made by a fly half-drowned in ink attempting to
recover itself on the paper. The letter ran as follows:--

"Deer bil i am a-goin to doo it on mundy the 15th tother cove wont wurk
besides Iv chaningd my mind about him. Don't fale."

"What's the address, Abel?" asked Mrs Bones.

"Willum Stiggs," replied her husband.

"So--i--g--s," said Mrs Bones, writing very slowly, "Rosebud Cottage."

"What!" exclaimed the man fiercely, as he started up.

"Oh, I declare!" said Mrs Bones, with a laugh, "if that place that
Tottie's been tellin' us of ain't runnin' in my 'ead. But I've not writ
it, Abel, I only said it."

"Well, then, don't say it again," growled Bones, with a suspicious
glance at his wife; "write number 6 Little Alley, Birmingham."

"So--numr sx littlaly bringinghum," said Mrs Bones, completing her task
with a sigh.

When Bones went out to post this curious epistle, his wife took Tottie
on her knee, and, embracing her, rocked to and fro, uttering a moaning
sound. The child expressed anxiety, and tried to comfort her.

"Come what's the use o' strivin' against it?" she exclaimed suddenly.
"She's sure to come to know it in the end, and I need advice from some
one--if it was even from a child."

Tottie listened with suspense and some anxiety.

"You've often told me, mother, that the best advice comes from God. So
has Miss Lillycrop."

Mrs Bones clasped the child still closer, and uttered a short, fervent
cry for help.

"Tottie," she said, "listen--you're old enough to understand, I think.
Your father is a bad man--at least, I won't say he's altogether bad,
but--but, he's not good."

Tottie quite understood that, but said that she was fond of him
notwithstanding.

"Fond of 'im, child!" cried Mrs Bones