him to the Refuge. Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to
put a stone round his neck and pitch him into the river there; but that
would expose me to unpleasant consequences. Fast asleep! What an odd
little lump of ill-luck you are, you mite--not half as capable of
defending yourself as a stray cat!"

When Katie brought in the tea-tray, the boy opened his eyes and sat up
with a bewildered air. Recognizing the Gadfly, whom he already regarded
as his natural protector, he wriggled off the sofa, and, much encumbered
by the folds of his blanket, came up to nestle against him. He was
by now sufficiently revived to be inquisitive; and, pointing to the
mutilated left hand, in which the Gadfly was holding a piece of cake,
asked:

"What's that?"

"That? Cake; do you want some? I think you've had enough for now. Wait
till to-morrow, little man."

"No--that!" He stretched out his hand and touched the stumps of the
amputated fingers and the great scar on the wrist. The Gadfly put down
his cake.

"Oh, that! It's the same sort of thing as what you have on your
shoulder--a hit I got from someone stronger than I was."

"Didn't it hurt awfully?"

"Oh, I don't know--not more than other things. There, now, go to sleep
again; you have no business asking questions at this time of night."

When the carriage arrived the boy was again asleep; and the Gadfly,
without awaking him, lifted him gently and carried him out on to the
stairs.

"You have been a sort of ministering angel to me to-day," he said to
Gemma, pausing at the door. "But I suppose that need not prevent us from
quarrelling to our heart's content in future."

"I have no desire to quarrel with anyone."

"Ah! but I have. Life would be unendurable without quarrels. A good
quarrel is the salt of the earth; it's better than a variety show!"

And with that he went downstairs, laughing softly to himself, with the
sleeping child in his arms.

CHAPTER VII.

ONE day in the first week of January Martini, who had sent round
the forms of invitation to the monthly group-meeting of the literary
committee, received from the Gadfly a laconic, pencil-scrawled "Very
sorry: can't come." He was a little annoyed, as a notice of "important
business" had been put into the invitation; this cavalier treatment
seemed to him almost insolent. Moreover, three separate letters
containing bad news arrived during the day, and the wind was in the
east, so that Martini felt out of sorts an