_mother_ know you're
here?"

This brought the slang phrase, "Does your mother know you're out?" so
forcibly to the boy's mind, that he felt himself swell internally, and
had recourse again to his pocket-handkerchief as a safety-valve.

"Yes, sir," said he, on recovering his composure; "arter I saw Blazes--
Frank, I mean, that's my brother, sir--I goes right away home to bed. I
stops with my mother, sir, an' she saw me come off here this mornin',
sir. She knows I was comin' here."

"Of course; yes, yes, I see," muttered Mr Auberly, again taking up his
pen. "I see; yes, yes; same name--strange coincidence, though; but,
after all, there are many of that name in London. I suppose the _other_
boy will be here shortly. Very odd, very odd indeed."

"Please, sir," observed Willie, in a gentle tone, "you said _I_ was the
other boy, sir."

Mr Auberly seemed a little annoyed at his muttered words being thus
replied to, yet he condescended to explain that there was another boy of
the same name whom he expected to see that morning.

"Oh, then there's _another_ other boy, sir?" said Willie with a look of
interest.

"Hold your tongue!" said Mr Auberly in a sharp voice; "you're a fool,
and you're much too fond of speaking. I advise you to keep your tongue
quieter if you wish to get on in life."

Willie once more sought relief in his pocket-handkerchief, while his
patron indited and sealed an epistle, which he addressed to "Miss
Tippet, Number 6, Poorthing Lane, Beverly Square."

"Here, boy, take this to the lady to whom it is addressed--the lane is
at the opposite corner of the square--and wait an answer."

"Am I to bring the answer back to you, sir?" asked Willie with much
humility.

"No; the answer is for yourself," said Mr Auberly testily; "and hark
'ee, boy, you need not trouble me again. That note will get you all you
desire."

"Thank you, sir," said Willie, making a bow, and preparing to retire;
"but please, sir, I don't very well know, that is to say--ahem!"

"Well, boy?" said the patron sternly.

"Excuse me, sir; I can't help it, you know; but please, sir, I wish to
explain about that other boy--no, that's me, but the _other_ other boy,
you know--"

"Begone, boy!" cried Mr Auberly in a voice so stern that Willie found
himself next moment in the street, along which he ran chuckling worse
than ever.

A little reflection might have opened Mr Auberly's eyes to the truth in
regard to Willie, but a poor r