ayman; and
how great had been his relief and delight at finding that Ned returned
to the Mug no more. He next proceeded to inform his new confidant of his
meeting with the father (the sagacious reader knows where and when), and
of what took place at that event. He said how, in his first negotiation
with the father, prudently resolving to communicate drop by drop such
information as he possessed, he merely, besides confessing to a share
in the robbery, stated that he thought he knew the house, etc., to which
the infant had been consigned,--and that, if so, it was still alive; but
that he would inquire. He then related how the sanguine father, who saw
that hanging Dummie for the robbery of his house might not be half so
likely a method to recover his son as bribery and conciliation, not only
forgave him his former outrage, but whetted his appetite to the search
by rewarding him for his disclosure. He then proceeded to state how,
unable anywhere to find Paul, or any trace of him, he amused the sire
from time to time with forged excuses; how, at first, the sums he
received made him by no means desirous to expedite a discovery that
would terminate such satisfactory receipts; how at length the magnitude
of the proffered reward, joined to the threats of the sire, had made him
become seriously anxious to learn the real fate and present "whereabout"
of Paul; how, the last time he had seen the father, he had, by way of
propitiation and first fruit, taken to him all the papers left by the
unhappy mother and secreted by himself; and how he was now delighted to
find that Ned was acquainted with Paul's address. Since he despaired of
finding Paul by his own exertions alone, he became less tenacious of his
secret; and he now proffered Ned, on discovery of Paul, a third of that
reward the whole of which he had once hoped to engross.

Ned's eyes and mouth opened at this proposition. "But the name,--the
name of the father? You have not told me that yet!" cried he,
impatiently.

"Noa, noa!" said Dummie, archly, "I does n't tell you all, till you
tells I summut. Vhere's little Paul, I say; and vhere be us to get at
him?"

Ned heaved a sigh.

"As for the oath," said he, musingly, "it would be a sin to keep it, now
that to break it can do him no harm, and may do him good, especially as,
in case of imprisonment or death, the oath is not held to be binding;
yet I fear it is too late for the reward. The father will scarcely thank
you for fi