way to distant parts of
England, where the police thought they had a clue.

It was all in vain. Every gypsy encampment in the kingdom was
searched, but without avail; and even the police, sharp eyed as
they are, could not guess that the decent-looking Irishwoman,
speaking--when she did speak, which was seldom, for she was a
taciturn woman--with a strong brogue, working in a laundry in a
small street in the Potteries, Notting Hill, was the gypsy they
were looking for; or that the little boy, whose father she said was
at sea, was the child for whose discovery a thousand pounds was
continually advertised.

Chapter 2: The Foundling.

It was a bitterly cold night in January. The wind was roaring
across the flats and fens of Cambridgeshire, driving tiny flakes of
snow before it. But few people had been about all day, and those
whose business compelled them to face the weather had hurried
along, muffled up to the chin. It was ten at night; and the porter
and his wife at the workhouse, at Ely, had just gone to bed, when
the woman exclaimed:

"Sam, I hear a child crying."

"Oh, nonsense!" the man replied, drawing the bedclothes higher over
his head. "It is the wind; it's been whistling all day."

The woman was silent, but not convinced. Presently she sat up in
bed.

"I tell you, Sam, it's a child; don't you hear it, man? It's a
child, outside the gate. On such a night as this, too. Get up, man,
and see; if you won't, I will go myself."

"Lie still, woman. It's all thy fancy."

"You are a fool, Sam Dickson," his wife said, sharply. "Do you
think I have lived to the age of forty-five, and don't know a
child's cry, when I hear it? Now are you going to get up, or am I?"

With much grumbling, the porter turned out of bed, slipped on a
pair of trousers and a greatcoat, took down the key from the wall,
lighted a lantern, and went out. He opened the gate, and looked
out. There was nothing to be seen; and he was about to close the
gate again, with a curse on his wife's fancies, when a fresh cry
broke on his ears. He hurried out now and, directed by the voice,
found lying near the gate a child, wrapped in a dark-colored shawl,
which had prevented him from seeing it at his first glance. There
was no one else in sight.

Illustration: Sam Dickson finds little Willie Gale.

The man lifted his lantern above his head, and gave a shout. There
was no answer. Then he raised the child and carried it in; locked
the door, and