, the hour at which the banks
opened. Mr. Hucks whistled to himself softly, but out of tune--sure
sign that he was in a good humour--as he closed the neck of his
money-bag and tied the string with a neat knot. Just as he was
reaching, however, for coat and walking-stick, someone knocked at the
door.

"Come in!" he called, and resumed his seat as a lady entered--a stranger
to him. At first glance he guessed she might be the wife of some
impecunious musician, come to plead for restitution of an instrument.
Such things happened now and again on Monday mornings; nor was the
mistake without excuse in Miss Sally's attire. When travelling without
her maid she had a way of putting on anything handy, and in the order
more or less as it came to hand. Without specifying, it may be said
that two or three articles usually ranked as underclothing had this
morning partially worked their way up to the top stratum, and that by
consequence her person presented more than one example of what
geologists call a "fault"--though it is actually rather a misfortune.
As for her hat, she had started by putting it on sideways, and then,
since it would not "sit," and she had mislaid her hat-pins, had bound it
boldly in place with a grey woollen comforter, and knotted the ends
under her chin. What gave Mr. Hucks pause was, first, the brusqueness
of her entry, and next, the high clear tone of her accost.

"Mr. Christopher Hucks?"

"At your service, ma'am."

"I hope so, because I want your help."

"As for that, ma'am, I don't know who sent you; but it ain't generally
reckoned in my line."

Miss Sally glanced round the counting-house.

"You have the materials for doing quite a lot of miscellaneous good in
the world. But I'm not come to borrow money, if that makes you
easier--"

"It do, ma'am."

"--and I don't know a note of music."

"Me either," murmured Mr. Hucks regretfully.

"That being so, we'll come to business. May I take a seat?"

"Where you--" He was going to say "please," but substituted "choose"

"Thank you. My name's Breward--Sally Breward, and I live at a place
called Culvercoombe, on the Devon and Somerset border. My business is
that I'm interested in a couple of children, about whom you know
something. They broke out, some days ago, from an Orphanage kept here
by one Glasson; and I gather that you gave them a helping hand."

"Whoever told you that--" began Mr. Hucks.

"Nobody told me. I said that I gathered