a visit to Dave," said Sister Nora. "Perhaps he'll introduce
us to Mrs. Picture." Nothing hung on the conversation, and Mrs. Picture,
always under that name--there being indeed none to correct it--cropped
up and vanished as often as Dave was referred to. One knows how readily
the distortions of speech of some lovable little man or maid will
displace proper names, whose owners usually surrender them without
protest. That Granny Marrowbone and Mrs. Picture were thereafter
accepted as the working designations of the old twins was entirely owing
to Dave Wardle.

"Mrs. Picture lives upstairs, it seems," said Gwen, referring to the
letter. "I wonder you saw nothing of her, Cousin Chloe."

"Why should I, dear? I never went upstairs. I heard of her because the
little sister-poppet wanted to take the doll I gave her to show to a
person the old prizefighter spoke of as the old party two-pair-up. But I
thought the name was Bird."

"A prizefighter!" said Gwen. "How interesting! We _must_ pay a visit to
the Wardle family. Is it a very awful place they live in?" This question
was asked in the hope of an affirmative answer, Gwen having been
promised exciting and terrible experiences of London slums.

"Sapps Court?" said Miss Grahame, speaking from experience. "Oh
no!--quite a respectable place. Not like places I could show you out of
Drury Lane. I'll show you the place where Jo was, in this last Dickens."
Which would fix the date of this story, if nothing else did.

Granny Marrowbone looked awestruck at this lady's impressive knowledge
of the wicked metropolis, and was, moreover, uneasy about Dave's
surroundings. She had had several other letters from Dave; the latter
ones to some extent in his own caligraphy, which often rendered them
obscure. But the breadth of style which distinguished his early dictated
correspondence was always in evidence, and such passages as lent
themselves to interpretation sometimes contained suggestions of
influences at work which made her uneasy about his future. These were
often reinforced by hieroglyphs, and one of these in particular appeared
to refer to persons or associations she shrank from picturing to herself
as making part of the child's life. She handed the letter which
contained it to Sister Nora, and watched her face anxiously as she
examined it.

Sister Nora interpreted it promptly. "A culprit running away from the
Police, evidently. His legs are stiff, but the action is brisk. I should