f young man that
would be known anywhere."

"I'm Mr. Milberry," he says, "the grocer, in the High Street."

"Then what are you doing here with this dog?" I says.

"Don't irritate me," he answers. "I tell you I don't know myself. My
wife's stopping here at Warwick, nursing her mother, and in every letter
she's written home for the last fortnight she's said, 'Oh, how I do long
to see Eric! If only I could see Eric for a moment!'"

"A very motherly sentiment," I says, "which does her credit."

"So this afternoon," continues he, "it being early-closing day, I thought
I'd bring the child here, so that she might see it, and see that it was
all right. She can't leave her mother for more than about an hour, and I
can't go up to the house, because the old lady doesn't like me, and I
excite her. I wish to wait here, and Milly--that's my wife--was to come
to me when she could get away. I meant this to be a surprise to her."

"And I guess," I says, "it will be the biggest one you have ever given
her."

"Don't try to be funny about it," he says; "I'm not altogether myself,
and I may do you an injury."

He was right. It wasn't a subject for joking, though it had its humorous
side.

"But why," I says, "put it in a dog-basket?"

"It isn't a dog-basket," he answers irritably; "it's a picnic hamper. At
the last moment I found I hadn't got the face to carry the child in my
arms: I thought of what the street-boys would call out after me. He's a
rare one to sleep, and I thought if I made him comfortable in that he
couldn't hurt, just for so short a journey. I took it in the carriage
with me, and carried it on my knees; I haven't let it out of my hands a
blessed moment. It's witchcraft, that's what it is. I shall believe in
the devil after this."

"Don't be ridiculous," I says, "there's some explanation; it only wants
finding. You are sure this is the identical hamper you packed the child
in?"

He was calmer now. He leant over and examined it carefully. "It looks
like it," he says; "but I can't swear to it."

"You tell me," I says, "you never let it go out of your hands. Now
think."

"No," he says, "it's been on my knees all the time."

"But that's nonsense," I says; "unless you packed the dog yourself in
mistake for your baby. Now think it over quietly. I'm not your wife,
I'm only trying to help you. I shan't say anything even if you did take
your eyes off the thing for a minute."

He thought again, a