lanced suspiciously at
him at one a.m.; while the crossing-sweeper said she "knowed that there
little stumpy gent by heart."

It was one afternoon about three, though, that Pratt was sauntering
along one side of the square, when he saw Vanleigh and Sir Felix go
slowly up to Sir Hampton's house; and a pang shot through the little
fellow, as envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness took
possession of his heart.

"Lucky beggars!" he groaned.

He felt better, though, the next minute, for the servant who answered
the door had evidently said "Not at home!" card-cases had been
withdrawn, and then the visitors had languidly descended the steps and
continued their way.

"Lucky beggars!" said Pratt again. "Heigho! what a donkey I am to
wander about here. Poor Dick, though, it's to do him a good turn."

He crossed the road to the railings of the garden, and as he walked
there he cast a very languishing look up at the great, grim house,
almost fancying he heard "Er-rum!" proceed from an open window; and if
he had not said his presence there was on account of his friend, any
looker-on would have vowed it was in his own interests.

He walked slowly on, thinking about Cornwall, and another visit he had
projected there; of Fin Rea; about Richard and his disappointments;
about his pretty neighbour; and lastly of a case he had in hand, when a
little toy dog rushed amongst the shrubs inside the railings, and began
snapping and barking at him with all the virulence of an old
acquaintance.

"Get out, you little wretch!" thought Pratt, and then he fancied he
recognised the dog.

"Why, it's Pepine!" he mentally exclaimed.

And if any doubt remained it was solved by a voice crying--

"Naughty Pepine, come here directly!"

Then through the trees he caught a glimpse of a lavender dress
gracefully draping an iron seat.

It was not the dog that made Frank Pratt flee with rapid strides, till a
thought made him check his steps.

"Suppose some one else was walking there!"

In the hope that it might be possible, Pratt went slowly on, taking
advantage of every break in the trees to peer anxiously through the
railings, seeing, however, nothing but nursemaids in charge of naughty
children, whom it was necessary to correct by screwing their arms at the
sockets--a beneficial practice, no doubt, but whose good was not
apparent at the time. There was a perambulator being propelled by a
nursemaid reading the _Family Herald_, while