h certainly he hadn't much choice of a wife.

"My love to dear old London! Sometimes I have half a mind to skip off and
do my wooing myself. Perhaps I should do so, only that Rosa writes that
she would like to come and spend her summer holiday in Peel. Haven't I
told you about Rosa? She's the lady journalist that Mr. Drake introduced
me to.

"But let's to bed,
Said Sleepyhead.

"Glory.

"P.S.--IMPORTANT. Ever since I left London I have been tormented with the
recollection of poor Polly's baby. She put him out to nurse with the Mrs.
Jupe you heard of, and that person put him out to somebody else. While
the mother lived I had no business to interfere, but I can't help
thinking of the motherless mite now and wondering what has become of him.
I suppose that like Jeshurun he waxeth fat and kicketh by this time, yet
it would be the act of a man and a clergyman if anybody would take up my
neglected duty and make it his business to see that there is somebody to
love the poor child. Mrs. Jupe's address is 5a, The Little Turnstile,
going from Holborn into Lincoln's Inn Fields."

VIII.

It was on a Saturday morning that John Storm received Glory's letter, and
on the evening of the same day he set out in search of Mrs. Jupe's. The
place was not easy to find, and when he discovered it at length he felt a
pang at the thought that Glory herself had lived in this dingy burrowing.
As he was going up to the door of the little tobacco shop a raucous voice
within was saying, "That's what's doo on the byeby, and till you can py
up you needn't be a-kemmin' 'ere no more." At the next moment a young
woman crossed him on the threshold. She was a little slender thing,
looking like a flower that has been broken by the wet. He recognised her
as the girl who had nursed the baby in Cook Lane on the day of his first
visit to Soho. She was crying, and to hide her swollen eyes she dropped
her head at passing, and he saw her faded ribbons and soiled straw hat.

A woman of middle age behind the counter was curtsying to his clerical
attire, and a little girl at the door of an inner room was looking at him
out of the corner of her eyes, with head aslant.

"Father Storm, I think, sir. Come in and set you down, sir.--Mind the
shop, Booboo.--My 'usband 'as told me about ye, sir. 'You'll know 'im at
onct, Lidjer,' 'e sez, siz 'e.--No, 'e ain't 'ome from the club yet, but
'e might be a-kemmin' in any time now, sir."

John Storm had seated h