dishevelled, her face
flushed to the parboiled tint, and her dress uncommonly damp and frowsy.
A mop which she held in her hand explained everything.

"A circular, if you please," said Bog, in a quivering voice, poking the
folded paper at her.

"A succular, is it? Miss Peelbody told me not to take any succulars for
her. So 'way wid ye." Bridget put her hand on the door, and was about to
swing it to.

"It isn't for Miss Pillbody at all," said Bog, fearful lest the strange
man should see it refused, "but for your own pretty self."

Bridget smiled, for she was conscious that the compliment was deserved.
She relaxed her hand on the door. "Fat is it?" said she.

"Hush!" said Bog, in a whisper; "a circular about the rights of
servants, issued by the 'Servants' Mootual Protecting Society.'" (Bog
thought of the name on the spur of the moment.) "Please take it--quick."

Bridget snatched the circular out of his hand, and was about to look at
it, bottom side up, for she had not yet attained to the mystery of
reading, when the musical voice of Miss Pillbody was heard at the back
of the entry. "Bridget--what is wanted, Bridget?"

"Nothing ma'am, but one of these succular men. Bad luck to him! Here,
now, take it."

She made a feint of handing back the circular to Bog, but concealed it,
with the other hand, in her capacious bosom.

"Heaven bless ye!" said she, in a low voice, and then slammed the door
in his face.

Bog came down the door steps quickly, and saw the strange man make a bow
and a gesture of gratitude at him, and then disappear suddenly round the
corner. Bog's first impulse was to follow him at a distance; but his
curiosity to inspect the slender, perfumed letter, overcame it.

When Bog reached the awning in front of McFeeter's store--a sort of
haven or putting-in place for him--he pulled out the letter, and was
about to read it. Then it occurred to him that the situation was too
much exposed. The strange man might come back, and see him with the open
letter in his hand. Bog would have enjoyed a personal collision with him
on any pretext; but to be caught in the act of reading the letter, would
spoil the strategical advantage that Bog now had over him.

Bog moved on down a side street, and took his stand behind a huge
wooden column surmounted by a gilded mortar and pestle. Here he was
about to rip open the envelope, but a glance across the street
discovered a policeman looking at him. Bog felt guilty and awkw