-fellows. Not less, perhaps, does it lead to
unlikely confidants. Under a sudden impulse our hero revealed to poor
Zook the cause of his being there--concealing nothing except names.

"You'll 'scuse me, sir," said the little man, after the narrative was
finished, "but I think you've gone on summat of a wild-goose chase, for
your man may never have come so low as to seek shelter in sitch places."

"Possibly, Zook; but he was penniless, and this, or the work-house,
seemed to me the natural place to look for him in."

"'Ave you bin to the work-'ouses, sir?"

"Yes--at least to all in this neighbourhood."

"What! in that toggery?" asked the little man, with a grin.

"Not exactly, Zook, I can change my shell like the hermit crabs."

"Well, sir, it's my opinion that you may go on till doomsday on this
scent an' find nuthin'; but there's a old 'ooman as I knows on that
might be able to 'elp you. Mind I don't say she could, but she _might_.
Moreover, if she can she will."

"How?" asked Charlie, somewhat amused by the earnestness of his little
friend.

"Why, this way. She's a good old soul who lost 'er 'usband an' 'er
son--if I ain't mistaken--through drink, an' ever since, she 'as devoted
'erself body an' soul to save men an' women from drink. She attends
temperance meetin's an' takes people there--a'most drags 'em in by the
scruff o' the neck. She keeps 'er eyes open, like a weasel, an'
w'enever she sees a chance o' what she calls pluckin' a brand out o' the
fire, she plucks it, without much regard to burnin' 'er fingers.
Sometimes she gits one an' another to submit to her treatment, an' then
she locks 'em up in 'er 'ouse--though it ain't a big un--an' treats 'em,
as she calls it. She's got one there now, it's my belief, though
w'ether it's a he or a she I can't tell. Now, she may 'ave seen your
friend goin' about--if 'e stayed long in Whitechapel."

"It may be so," returned our hero wearily, for he was beginning to lose
heart, and the prospect opened up to him by Zook did not on the first
blush of it seem very brilliant. "When could I see this old woman?"

"First thing to-morror arter breakfast, sir."

"Very well; then you'll come and breakfast with me at eight?"

"I will, sir, with all the pleasure in life. In this 'ere 'ouse, sir,
or in a resterang?"

"Neither. In my lodgings, Zook."

Having given his address to the little man, Charlie bade him good-night
and retired to his pauper-bed for the last