roine, being wheeled
back on the organ to Hatton Garden. It was an unpleasant journey. The
bad woman called at a lot more public-houses, and left Alicia and the
organ outside in the rain.

"It was a wonder Alicia was not stolen again. She began to cry. People
who came by couldn't make out what it was, for she was hidden under the
quilt, and some thought instead of an organ it must have been some
strange animal.

"An organ that cried like a child would be a very queer animal, nearly
as queer as an author whose tale comes out of his head; and some of the
people said so."

I was hot and tired by the time I had worked off this piece of humour,
and began to wish I saw my way to the end of my twelve sheets. Two more
I occupied with a picture of the organ-grinder's quarters in Hatton
Garden, and concluded with the following poetical passage:--

"Little thought the wicked Vixen as she huddled her stolen infant into a
damp corner of the filthy room, how much would happen before Alicia and
her poor parents next met.

"We know very little of what is going to happen, and perhaps it is a
good job. At any rate it was a good job for Alicia as she lay fast
asleep.

"The world is all before the little baby--It doesn't know what's all in
store for it--If it did know, it seems to me that maybe it wouldn't like
the prospect--not a bit.

"End of Chapter One."

Harry looked a little uncomfortable as I finished reading my chapter
aloud. I concluded he felt rather out of it, and I was not surprised.
For on the whole it read well, and in some respects I flattered myself
it had rather a pull on _Nicholas Nickleby_.

Harry wisely reserved his criticisms until he had read his own chapter,
which I awaited with a smile of brotherly resignation.

"You know," explained he, before he began, "I tried to get more incident
than you, that's why I left out the scenery."

Aha! my scenery had fetched him, then! I wondered what his incident
would be like.

"Fire away!" said I.

"Her name was Sarah Vixen--[I'm beginning now]--Her name was Sarah
Vixen. She was a horrid old maid. One morning she went and played her
organ in Euston Square. She played `Wait till the clouds roll by,' and
`Sweethearts' waltz', and the `Marseillaise,' one after the other, after
which she paused and watched a tennis match which was going on in the
square.

"It was a four-handed match between two rather good-looking boys who
wore red and green ribbons on t