ow 'im," he said. "I'm new to this job, an' they don't talk
to me through the coal-'ole. But you seem a well-plucked one, and what
with your crutch--How did you come by it?"

"Kick of a pony."

"Seems to me you've been a good deal mixed up with animals, for your
age. What about your pa and ma?"

"Never 'ad none, I thank Gord."

"Eh?" The young man laid down his shovel, lifted the flap of his
sou'wester, and scratched the back of his head slowly. "Let me get the
hang o' _that_, now."

"I've seen fathers and mothers," said the sage child, nodding at him;
"and them as likes 'em is welcome to 'em."

"Gor-a-mussy!" half-groaned the young man. "If you talk like that,
they'll take you in, right enough; but as to your gettin' out--"

"I'll get out, one way or 'nother--you see!" Tilda promised. "All you
'ave to do is to take charge o' this crutch an' look after the dog."

"Oh, I'll look after 'im!"

The child shook a forefinger at 'Dolph, forbidding him to follow her.
The dog sank on his haunches, wagging a tail that swept the grasses in
perplexed protest, and watched her as she retraced her way along the
towpath.

Tilda did not once look back. She was horribly frightened; but she had
pledged her word now, and it was irredeemable. From the hurrying
traffic of the street she took a final breath of courage, and tugged at
the iron bell-pull depending beside the Orphanage gate. A bell clanged
close within the house, and the sound of it almost made her jump out of
her boots.

CHAPTER III

A KIDNAPPING

"_And with that sound the castle all to-brast; so she took him, and they
two fared forth hand in hand." "QUEST OF THE GRAIL."

The front door opened, and a slatternly woman in a soiled print dress
came shuffling down the flagged pathway to the gate. She wore cloth
boots, and Tilda took note that one of them was burst.

"Go away," said the woman, opening the gate just wide enough to thrust
out her head. "We don't give nothing to beggars."

"I could 'a told _you_ that," retorted Tilda. "But as it 'appens, I
ain't one." She pointed to a brass letter-plate beside the wicket--it
was pierced with a slit, and bore the legend, _For Voluntary Donations_.
"Seems you collect a bit, though. Like it better, I dessay."

"Look here, if you've come with a message, let's 'ave it, an' take
yourself off. It's washing-day in the 'ouse, an' I'm busy."

"Ah!" said Tilda politely, "I'm glad I came before you b