no
longer there? But first, let me have my little boy. He is in the garden,
you say?"

She looked round, for there was no sign of a garden. The window of the
little room in which they were, looked out only on to a blank wall.

"This way, Madame," said the young woman, opening a door at the side. It
led into a little dark passage, and, at the end of it, there was another
door, standing open, and through this door came the sound of children's
voices.

Auntie stood still a moment to listen--the first words made her smile.

"Him wants to go home now," said the well-known voice. "Little girl, why
_won't_ you listen? Him wants to go home, and so does Minet. Doesn't you
hear?"

The little girl must have been very much puzzled, for auntie heard her
trying her best, in her baby talk, to make this queer little stranger
understand that they were to stay out in the garden till her mother
called them in.

"Him wants to go _home_, and so does Minet," repeated poor Baby, and his
voice began to quiver and shake, as if he were going to cry. Auntie
could stand it no longer. She hurried out into the little garden.

"You shall go home now, Baby dear," she said. "Auntie has come to fetch
you."

Baby looked up eagerly at the sound of a well-known voice. He ran to her
and held up his little face for a kiss. He looked very pleased, but not
at all surprised. It was one of Herr Baby's funny ways, that he almost
never seemed surprised.

"Him is so glad you's come," he said. "You'll help him to carry home the
shiny jugs, for Minet's _raver_ tired, and him might have to carry her
and the money-box. But you won't tell mother about the jugs, will you?
You'll let him run in wif them him's self, won't you, auntie? _Won't_
mother be pleased?"

"But you must tell me all about it, dear," said auntie; "did you come
off all alone to get the glasses? Why didn't you ask some one to come
with you?"

Baby looked a little troubled.

"Him didn't come _alone_," he said. "Him told Minet, and Minet comed
too, only her's werry tired. And it were for the party, auntie," he
added, looking up wistfully, "Lisa said mother had no pitty jugs for
her's party. And oh, auntie, p'ease do be kick, 'fear we shall be too
late."

Auntie took his hand and led him back into the shop, where the old man
was wrapping up the jugs with a great show of soft paper, that auntie
should see how careful he was.

"Has my little boy paid you?" she asked.

"Oh yes," said He