ttle bed in
front of the fire and got him into it. Connie was also rubbed and dried
and desired to dispense with her beggar's toilet.

Afterwards there was quite a good dinner of roast pork with crackling
and apple sauce, and dreadful as their position was, both the poor
children enjoyed this meal as they had never enjoyed food before.

Thus a few days went by, the children going out every morning with Mrs.
Warren sometimes as beggar children, but sometimes again as children of
the well-to-do. These two programmes formed the most interesting part of
their little lives. For the rest of the day they sat huddled up
together, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, while each day a bigger
and bigger ache came into Ronald's heart. Why, oh why did not his father
come to fetch him?

But as all things come to an end, so the children's life in Mrs.
Warren's dreadful attics came to an abrupt conclusion.

One day, just as they were dressed to go out, there came a hurried knock
at the door. It seemed to Connie, who was very sharp and observant, that
Mrs. Warren did not much like the sound. She went to the door and,
before opening it, called out, "Who's there?"

"Agnes," was the reply; whereupon Mrs. Warren opened the door a few
inches, and Agnes squeezed in, immediately locking the door behind her.
She whispered something into Mrs. Warren's ear, which caused that good
woman to turn deadly white and stagger against the wall.

"Yer've no time to faint, ma'am," said Agnes. "'Ere--let me slap yer on
the back."

She gave two resounding whacks on Mrs. Warren's stout back, which caused
that woman to heave a couple of profound sighs and then to recover her
presence of mind.

She and Agnes then retired into her bedroom, where drawers were hastily
opened, and much commotion was heard by the two prettily dressed and
waiting children. In another minute or two Agnes came out alone.

"Wull," she said, "and 'ow be you, Connie?"

"I am all right," said Connie. "Where's Mammy Warren?"

"She's tuk bad, and won't want yer to go out a-walkin' with her to-day.
Oh my! oh my! how spry we be! It 'minds me o' the old song, 'As
Willikins were a-walkin' wid his Dinah one day.'"

"Agnes," said Connie, "I'm certain sure as there's some'ut wrong."

"Be yer now?" said Agnes. "Wull then, ye're mistook. Wot could be wrong?
Ye're a very queer and suspicious gel, Connie Harris--the most
suspicious as I hever see'd. Ye're just for all the world the most