d to meet
me on the pier. I cannot imagine what has become of her."

"Let me go and find her," said Lodloe. "What sort of person is she?"

"She isn't any sort of person in particular," answered the lady. "I
couldn't describe her. I will run down and look for her myself, and if
you will kindly see that nobody knocks over my baby I shall be much
obliged to you."

Lodloe instantly undertook the charge, and the lady disappeared below.

II

THE BABY, THE MAN, AND THE MASTERY

The young man drew the baby-carriage to the bench by the rail and,
seating himself, gazed with interest upon its youthful occupant. This
individual appeared to be about two years of age, with its mother's eyes
and a combative disposition. The latter was indicated by the manner in
which it banged its own legs and the sides of its carriage with a wicker
bludgeon that had once been a rattle. It looked earnestly at the young
man, and gave the edges of its carriage a whack which knocked the
bludgeon out of its hand. Lodloe picked up the weapon, and, restoring it
to its owner, began to commune with himself.

"It is the same old story," he thought. "The mother desires to be rid of
the infant; she leaves it for a moment in the charge of a stranger; she
is never seen again. However, I accept the situation. If she doesn't
come back this baby is mine. It seems like a good sort of baby, and I
think I shall like it. Yes, youngster, if your mother doesn't come back
you are mine. I shall not pass you over to the police or to any one
else; I shall run you myself."

It was now half-past nine. Lodloe arose and looked out over the pier. He
could see nothing of the young mother. The freight was all on board, and
they were hauling up the forward gang-plank. One or two belated
passengers were hurrying along the pier; the bell was ringing; now the
passengers were on board, the aft gang-plank was hauled in, the hawsers
were cast off from the posts, the pilot's bell jingled, the wheels began
to revolve, and the great steamboat slowly moved from its pier.

"I knew it," said Lodloe, unconsciously speaking aloud; "she hadn't the
slightest idea of coming back. Now, then," said he, "I own a baby, and I
must consider what I am to do with it. One thing is certain, I intend to
keep it. I believe I can get more solid comfort and fun out of a baby
than I could possibly get out of a dog or even a horse."

Walter Lodloe was a young man who had adopted literature as a
pr