an opening,
we ran up against one of the women with her man in tow. She was arguing
with him in a low, eager sort of voice, and he followed sulkily. At sight
of us again she fetched up with a gasp of breath, almost with a squeal.
The man drew himself up defiantly and began to curse us, but she quickly
interrupted him, thrusting her open hand over his mouth, and drew him away
down a dark courtyard.

After this we found ourselves in the glare immediately under the platform
of a booth; and two minutes later were mounting the rickety steps, less of
our own choice than by pressure of the crowd behind. The treat promised
us within was the Siege of Copenhagen with real fireworks, which as an
entertainment would do as well as another. On the way up Hartnoll
whispered to me to keep my hands in my breeches pockets, if I carried my
money there; and almost on the same instant cried out that someone had
stolen his dirk. He stood lamenting, pointing to the empty sheath, while
a stout woman at a table took our entrance-money with an impassive face.
The Siege of Copenhagen was what you youngsters nowadays would call a
'fizzle,' I believe: or maybe Hartnoll's face of woe and groanings over
his lost dirk damped the fireworks for me. But these were followed by a
performing pony, which, after some tricks, being invited by his master to
indicate among the audience a gentleman addicted to kissing the ladies and
running away, thrust its muzzle affectionately into my waistcoat; whereat
Hartnoll recovered his spirits at a bound, and treacherously laughed
louder than any of the audience. I thought it infernally bad taste, and
told him so. But, as it happened, I had a very short while to wait for
revenge: for in the very next booth, being invited to pinch the biceps of
the Fat Woman, my gentleman-of-the-world blushed to the eyes, cast a wild
look around for escape, and turned, to fall into the arms of a couple of
saucy girls who pushed him forward to hold him to his bargain. His eyes
were red--he was positively crying with shame and anger--when we found
ourselves outside under the torchlights that made flaming haloes in the
fog.

"Hang it, Rodd! I've had enough of this fair. Let's get back to the
Posts."

"What's the time?" said I, and felt for my watch.

My watch had disappeared.

It had been my mother's parting gift, and somehow the loss of it made me
feel, with a shock, utterly alone in the world. Why on earth had I not
clung