say he would get away. The police seem to threaten, but not to be
acting promptly. What do you think, Gwen?"

"Unquestionably!" said Gwen. "The Police are very impressive with their
batons. But what on earth is this thing underneath the malefactor?"
Sister Nora went behind her chair, and they puzzled over it, together.
It was inscrutable.

At last Sister Nora said slowly, as though still labouring with
perplexity:--"Is it possible?--but no, it's impossible--possible he
means that?..."

"Possible he means what?"

"My idea was--but I think it's quite out of the question---- Well!--you
know there is a prison called 'The Jug,' in that sort of class?"

"I didn't know it. It looks very like a jug, though--the thing does....
Yes--he's a prisoner that's got out of prison. He must have had the Jug
all to himself, though, it's so small!"

"I do believe that's what it is, upon my word. There was an escape from
Coldbath Fields--which is called the Stone Jug--some time back, that was
in the papers. It made a talk. That's it, I do believe!" Sister Nora was
pleased at the solution of the riddle; it was a feather in Dave's cap.

Said Gwen:--"He did escape, though! I'm glad. He must have been a
cheerful little culprit. I should have been sorry for him to get into
the hands of those wooden police." Her acceptance of Dave's
Impressionist Art as a presentment of facts was a tribute to the force
of his genius. Some explanatory lettering, of mixed founts of type, had
to be left undeciphered.

The ogress came back from the convalescents; having assigned them their
teas, and enjoined peace. "You should ask her ladyship to read what's on
the back, Granny," she said; not to presume overmuch by direct speech to
the young lady from the Towers. The old lady said acquiescingly:--"Yes,
child, that _would_ be best. If you please, my lady!"

"This writing here?" said Gwen, turning the paper. "Oh yes--this is Mrs.
Picture again. 'Dave says I am to write for him what this is he has
drawed for Granny Marrowbone to see. The lady may see it, too.' ...
That's not me; he doesn't know me.... Oh, I see!--it's my mother...."

"Yes--that's Cousin Philippa. Go on."

Gwen went on:--"'It is the Man in High Park at the Turpentine
Micky'--some illegible name--'knew and that is Michael in the corner
larfing at the Spolice. The Man has got out of sprizzing and the Spolice
will not cop him.' There was no room for Michael Somebody, and he
hasn't worked out w