rtly after breakfast, Miss Mackenzie's butler
informed her that there was a child who wanted to speak with her in the
hall. On going down she found Bauble Wishart on the mat.

"Where is your father? and why did he not come with you?" asked Miss
Mackenzie, puzzled.

"He thoucht shame to come an' speak wi' a fine leddy like you." This
excuse, plausible enough, was uttered in a low voice and with downcast
eyes, but hardly was it pronounced when she burst out rapidly and
breathlessly into what was clearly the main object of her visit: "But
please, mem, he says he'll gie me to you if ye'll gie him the three
shillin's to tak' the banjo oot o' the pawn."

This candid proposal took Miss Mackenzie's breath away. To become the
owner of Baubie Wishart, even at so low a price, seemed to her rather a
heathenish proceeding, with a flavor of illegality about it to boot.
There was a vacancy at the home for little girls which might be made
available for the little wretch without the necessity of any preliminary
of this kind; and it did not occur to her that it was a matter of any
moment whether Mr. Wishart continued to exercise the role of
"sandwich-man" or returned to his normal profession of banjo-player.
Baubie was to be got hold of in any case. With the muttered adjuration
of the wretched girl in Kennedy's Lodgings echoing in her ears, Miss
Mackenzie determined that she should be left no longer than could be
helped in that company.

How earnest and matter of fact she was in delivering her extraordinary
errand! thought Miss Mackenzie to herself, meeting the eager gaze of
Baubie Wishart's eyes, looking out from beneath her tangle of hair like
those of a Skye terrier.

"I will speak to your father myself, Baubie--tell him so--to-morrow,
perhaps: tell him I mean to settle about you myself. Now go."

The least possible flicker of disappointment passed over Baubie's face.
The tangled head drooped for an instant, then she bobbed by way of adieu
and vanished.

That day and the next passed before Miss Mackenzie found it possible to
pay her long-promised visit to Mr. Wishart, and when, about eleven in
the forenoon, she once more entered the big kitchen in Kennedy's
Lodgings, she was greeted with the startling intelligence that the whole
Wishart family were in prison.

The room was as full as before. Six women were sitting in the middle of
the floor teasing out an old hair mattress. There was the same odor of
cooking, early as it was