onour of
taking her a walk, and giving her a little fresh air. And little Mary
jumped for joy at the idea of this holiday, for Finucane never neglected
to give her a toy, or to take her to a show, and brought newspaper
orders in his pocket for all sorts of London diversions to amuse the
child. Indeed, he loved them with all his heart, and would cheerfully
have dashed out his rambling brains to do them, or his adored Captain, a
service.

"May I go, Charley? or shall I stay with you, for you're poorly,
dear, this morning? He's got a headache, Mr. Finucane. He suffers from
headaches, and I persuaded him to stay in bed," Mrs. Shandon said.

"Go along with you, and Polly. Jack, take care of 'em. Hand me over the
Burton's Anatomy, and leave me to my abominable devices," Shandon said,
with perfect good-humour. He was writing, and not uncommonly took his
Greek and Latin quotations (of which he knew the use as a public writer)
from that wonderful repertory of learning.

So Fin gave his arm to Mrs. Shandon, and Mary went skipping down the
passages of the prison, and through the gate into the free air. From
Fleet Street to Paternoster Row is not very far. As the three reached
Mr. Bungay's shop, Mrs. Bungay was also entering at the private door,
holding in her hand a paper parcel and a manuscript volume bound in red,
and, indeed, containing an account of her transactions with the butcher
in the neighbouring market. Mrs. Bungay was in a gorgeous shot-silk
dress, which flamed with red and purple; she wore a yellow shawl, and
had red flowers inside her bonnet, and a brilliant light blue parasol.

Mrs. Shandon was in an old black watered silk; her bonnet had never seen
very brilliant days of prosperity any more than its owner, but she could
not help looking like a lady whatever her attire was. The two women
curtsied to each other, each according to her fashion.

"I hope you're pretty well, mum?" said Mrs. Bungay.

"It's a very fine day," said Mrs. Shandon.

"Won't you step in, mum?" said Mrs. Bungay, looking so hard at the child
as almost to frighten her.

"I--I came about business with Mr. Bungay--I--I hope he's pretty well?"
said timid Mrs. Shandon.

"If you go to see him in the counting-house, couldn't you, couldn't you
leave your little gurl with me?" said Mrs. Bungay, in a deep voice, and
with a tragic look, as she held out one finger towards the child.

"I want to stay with mamma," cried little Mary, burying her face i