e beamed on him. "Oh, Jerry, you
are the very man I came to see; go home just as quick as ever you can
to your wife."

"Peggy, my Peggy! Is she worse?" and the poor fellow looked the anguish
he felt.

"I don't b'lieve she's 'zackly worse," said the child, feeling very big
indeed, "but she's acting queer, and she's got something 'portant on her
mind and sent me for you."

Jerry waited to hear no more, but, seizing the child's hand, started to
run. Leaving her in her own street, he hurried on alone.

[Illustration]

His wife was watching for him, trembling and anxious. She was so
relieved when he appeared that she burst into tears.

He took her frail body in his arms: "Why, Peggy, old girl, what has
happened? Has anybody been hurting you?"

At these tender words she controlled herself and told him all that
had occurred.

He was thunderstruck. "The scoundrels!" he muttered. "They surely
wouldn't dare--but rest easy, love. We'll get ahead of them, never
fear."

He thought deeply. "The best thing, wife, is not to alarm the ladies,
but to see Mr. Morton himself. I'll go to him as fast as I can." But
even in his haste he stopped to replenish the fire, settle Peggy's
pillows more comfortably, and warm some soup for her.

Then he sought Mr. Morton's office and asked to see him privately.

Mr. Morton sent word that he was busy and did not wish to be disturbed.

"Tell him it's a serious matter," said Jerry.

Upon receiving this message Mr. Morton invited him in, and, closing the
door of the little private office where he was in the habit of holding
confidential interviews with his clients, he prepared to listen with a
bored air.

"I'm Jerry, sir," the visitor began, "Jerry Myer. You may not know me,
sir, but I know you, and your children--they call me Paddy--'Paddy on
the Turnpike.'"

"Oh, it's Paddy, is it?" said Morton, remembering.

"Yes, sir; no, sir--that is, it's Jerry, sir."

"Well, Jerry, be quick; what can I do for you this afternoon?"

And Jerry began:

"You see, sir, my wife, being poorly, has to sit all the time indoors.
Our little cottage is just across the street from your fine house, sir;
next to the convent wall with only a bit of a passway between; and
Peggy, she's my wife, overheard two men, hiding there, talking and
planning as how they would rob you to-night and drug you, and there's
no telling what else besides."

"How is this?" cried Mr. Morton, "I'm to be robbed and drugged, am I?"