ell," said Gwen, turning the image of Michael several
ways up, to determine its components. But it was too Impressionist. "I
suppose 'cop' means capture?" said she.

"That's it," said Sister Nora. "I think I know who Michael is. He's
Michael Rackstraw, a boy. Dave's Uncle had a bad impression of him--said
he would live to be hanged at an early date. He wouldn't be surprised to
hear that that young Micky had been pinched, any minute. 'Pinched' is
the same as 'copped.' Uncle Moses' slang is out-of-date."

She looked again at the undeciphered inscription. "I think 'Michael'
explains this lot of big and little letters," she said; and read them
out as: "'m, i, K, e, y, S, f, r, e, N, g.' Mickey's friend, evidently!"

"Oh, dearie me!" said the old lady. "To think now that that dear child
should be among such dreadful ways. I do wonder now--and, indeed, my
lady and Miss Nora, I've been thinking a deal about him, with his blue
eyes and curly brown hair, and him but just turned of seven.... I have
been thinking, my lady, only perhaps it's hardly for me to say ... I
_have_ been a wondering whether this ... elderly person ... only God
forgive me if I do her wrong!... whether this Mrs. Picture...." Granny
Marrable wavered in her indictment--hoped perhaps that one of the ladies
would catch her meaning and word her interpretation.

Sister Nora understood, and was quite ready with one. "Oh yes, I see
what you mean, Mrs. Marrable--whether the old woman is the right sort of
old woman for Dave. And it's very natural and quite right of you to
wonder. _I_ should if I hadn't seen the boy's parents--his uncle and
aunt.... Oh yes, of course, they are not his parents in the vulgar
sense! Don't be commonplace, Gwen!... nice, quiet, old-fashioned sort of
folk, devoted to the children. As for the prizefighting, I don't think
anything of that. I'm sure he fought fair; and it was the same for both
anyhow! He's an old darling, _I_ think. I'll show him to you, Gwen, down
his native court. Really, dear Granny Marrable, I don't think you need
be the least uneasy. We'll go and see Dave the moment we get up to
London--won't we, Gwen?"

"We'll go there first," said Gwen. But for all this reassurance the old
lady was clearly uneasy. "With regard to the boy Michael," said she
hesitatingly, "did you happen, ma'am, to _see_ the boy Michael.... I
mean, did he?..."

"Did he turn up when I was there, you mean? Well--no, he didn't! But
after all, what does