baby contemptuously, as it were, with her
nose.

"He's a very good bybie"--so the child pronounced it--"on'y rather
self-willed at times, m'm," said Tottie, going through the athletic feat
of lifting her charge.

"Just so. True to your woman's nature. Always ready to apologise for
the male monster that tyrannises over you. I suppose, now, you'd say
that your drunken father was a good man?"

Miss Stivergill repented of the speech instantly on seeing the tears
start into Tottie's large eyes as she replied quickly--"Indeed I would,
m'm. Oh! you've no notion 'ow kind father is w'en 'e's not in liquor."

"There, there. Of course he is. I didn't mean to say he wasn't, little
Bones. It's a curious fact that many drun--, I mean people given to
drink, _are_ kind and amiable. It's a disease. Go now, and get your
things on, and do you likewise, Lilly. My cab is at the door. Be
quick."

In a few minutes the whole party descended to the street. Miss
Stivergill locked the door with her own hand, and put the key in her
pocket. As she turned round, Tottie's tawdry bonnet had fallen off in
her efforts to raise the baby towards the outstretched hands of her
mistress, while the cabman stood looking on with amiable interest.

Catching up the bonnet, Miss Stivergill placed it on the child's head,
back to the front, twisted the strings round her head and face--anyhow--
lifted her and her charge into the cab, and followed them.

"Where to, ma'am?" said the amiable cabman.

"Charing Cross,--you idiot."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the man, with a broad grin, touching his hat and
bestowing a wink on a passing policeman as he mounted the box.

On their way to the station the good lady put out her head and shouted
"Stop!"

The maligned man obeyed.

"Stay here, Lilly, with the baby.--Jump out, little Bones. Come with
me."

She took the child's bonnet off and flung it under the cab, then grasped
Tottie's hand and led her into a shop.

"A hat," demanded the lady of the shopwoman.

"What kind of hat, ma'am?"

"Any kind," replied Miss Stivergill, "suitable for this child--only see
that it's not a doll's hat. Let it fit her."

The shopwoman produced a head-dress, which Tottie afterwards described
as a billycock 'at with a feather in it. The purchaser paid for it,
thrust it firmly on the child's head, and returned to the cab.

A few minutes by rail conveyed them to a charmingly country-like suburb,
with neat villas dott