figured to
herself; and there was something passive in the mode of his hearing his
father's 'My boy, my boy!' Instinctively all turned to the harbour of
the carriage; Mr. Dutton lifted Alwyn in, and as Nuttie received him, a
pang shot across her, as she felt how light, how bony the little frame
had become in these three weeks.

'Come in! Come back with us! Tell us all!' said Mr. Egremont, as Mr.
Dutton was about to help him in.

'My dog,' said Mr. Dutton, while Alwyn looked up from nestling in
Nuttie's lap to say, 'Mithter Button come! And Mothu!'

'We have room for him,' said Mr. Egremont graciously. 'Here, poor
fellow.'

'He has the right,' said Mr. Dutton, 'for he was the real finder.'

And Monsieur, curly and shiny, occupied with great dignity the back
seat beside his master, while Alwyn, in a silent but dreamy content, as
if he only half understood where he was, rested against his sister's
bosom with his hands in his father's.

'Come, old chap,' said his father cheerily, 'tell us all about it.'

But Alwyn only shuddered a little, raised his eyelids slightly, and
gave a tiny faint smile.

'I think he is very much tired,' said Mr. Dutton. 'There was a good
deal to be done to make him presentable this morning. You must forgive
me for sacrificing his curls, there was nothing else to be done with
them.'

'Ah!' and Nuttie looked again. The boy was in a new, rather coarse,
ready-made, sailor suit that hung loosely upon his little limbs, his
hair was short, and he was very pale, the delicate rosy flush quite
gone, and with it the round outline of the soft cheek; and there were
purple marks under the languid eyes. She bent down and kissed him,
saying, 'Was Mr. Button nurse to you, Wynnie?'

He smiled again and murmured, 'Mr. Button made me boy again.'

After a question and answer or two as to main facts of place and time
of the discovery, Mr. Dutton told his story. 'I did not effect much
with my inquiries after the circuses. All I heard of were of too
superior an order for kidnapping practices. However, I thought the
only way would be to haunt fairs and races, and look at their
camp-followers. At a place in Hertfordshire I saw a performance
advertised with several children as fairies, so I went to see it. I
was soon satisfied that Alwyn was not there; but it struck me that I
had known the face of the prime hero, a fine handsome supple fellow,
who was called in the programme Herr Adalbert Steinfug