tom."

"One thing is certain," pronounced the lamplighter, "this young 'ooman
should have some hot spirits in her inside, and be wrapped in a warm
blanket, afore she's starved with the cold."

First we walked all around Wumble Pool, and poked it with sticks, but there
was no sign of the cobbler's wife. Then, slowly, we retraced our steps to
the town, the two men supporting the dripping girl.

A lamp burned with a ruddy glow in the room behind the shop, where all the
birds were sleeping. Martindale put his charge in a chair by the hearth,
and made gin-and-beer hot for everybody. The Seraph kissed the girl, and
she said that she was glad after all that she was safe out of Wumble Pool.

"What is your name, my dear?" questioned Martindale.

"I don't know my name rightly, sir, for I was stole by gipsies when I was
but two days old."

The cobbler gave a cry and set down his glass. "Gipsies--two days' old--"
he stammered. Then he pushed back the thick hair, about her ear. "Yes,
yes!" pointing to a tiny slit in the lobe, "there is the very place,--where
one of my jealous birds pecked her the day she was born!" He caught her in
his arms and held her, mystified but happy--.

The reunion was interrupted by a pounding at the door. It was a furious
Mary Ellen, her night out completely spoiled by the search for us.

Thus we were haled before Mrs. Handsomebody, questioned, upbraided, and
given, at last, a bowl of hot gruel apiece.

"You deserve," she said bitterly, "to go empty to bed, but my conscience
forbids that I relax my vigilance over your health. Tomorrow, we shall see
what can be done in the way of discipline."

We sat on three high-backed haircloth chairs. The steaming gruel slipped
thickly into our stomachs. The hot gin had gone to our heads. Mrs.
Handsomebody's head looked abnormally large to me, and seemed to be
whirling round and round. Surely she was not getting like the cobbler's
wife! Mrs. Handsomebody was still scolding:

"You began the day by introducing a canary of the lowest proclivities into
my case of stuffed birds, where he perpetrated irreparable damage--"

The Seraph interrupted, "Don't you yike live birds, Mrs. Handsomebody?"

"I prefer stuffed birds to live ones, I confess."

The Seraph said apologetically: "And I pwefer gin to gwuel--any day."

"Gin! Where did you taste gin?"

Without reply The Seraph hurried on, while Angel and I scraped our bowls:

"There was once a student fellow and h