white-winged hood above her pale face, and a large cross suspended from
her girdle. He could not run her down.

NUN. Stop, MAN! Are you mad? Give me the child.

He placed the little bundle in her arms. She uncovered the queer, ruby
face, and kissed it. Ginx had not looked at the face before, but after
seeing it, and the act of this woman, he could not have touched a hair
of his child's head. His purpose died from that moment, though his
perplexity was still alive.

NUN. Let me have it. I will take it to the Sisters' Home, and it shall
live there. Your wife may come and nurse it. We will take charge of it.

GINX. And you won't send it back again? You'll take it for good and all?

NUN. O, yes.

GINX. Good. Give us yer hand.

A little white hand came out from under her burthen, and was at once
half-crushed in Ginx's elephantine grasp.

GINX. Done. Thank'ee, missus. Come, mates, I'll stand a drink.

A few minutes after, the woman of the cross, who had been up to comfort
the poor mother, fluttered with her white wings down Rosemary Street,
carrying in her arms Ginx's Baby.

PART II. WHAT CHARITY AND THE CHURCHES DID WITH HIM.

I.--The Milk of Human Kindness, Mother's Milk, and the Milk of the Word.

The early days of his residence at the Home of the Sisters of Misery,
in Winkle Street, was the Eden of Ginx's Baby's existence. Themselves
innocent of a mother's experiences, the sisters were free to give
play to their affections in a novel direction, and to assume a sort of
spiritual maternity that was lucky for the changeling. He was nestled
in kind serge-covered arms: kisses rained upon him from chaste lips. A
slight scandal thrilled the convent upon the discovery of his sex, which
had of course been a pure matter of conjecture to Sister Pudicitia
when she rescued him; but enthusiasm can overcome anything. The awkward
questions foreshadowed in the discovery were left to be considered when
their growing importance should demand upon them the judgment of the
archbishop. Visions of an unusual sanctity to be fostered in the pure
regions of the convent, and to be sent on a mission into the world
to attest the power of their spiritual discipline, began to haunt the
brains of the sequestered nuns. Might not this infant be an embryo
saint, destined for a great work in the heretical wilderness out of
which he had come? How little healthy food the brains must have had
wherein these insane dreams were excited