ooty! Ot's a gentleman?"

"A man, dear. Mr. Drayton is a gentleman, you know."

"Oh!" Then after a moment's sage reflection, "Me knows--a raskill."

"Willy!"

"'At's what daddy says he is."

All this time the little maiden at Mercy's side had been pondering her
own peculiar problem. "What would you do if you had a little girl?"

"Well, let me see; I'd teach her to knit and to sew, and I'd comb her
hair so nice, and make her a silk frock with flounces, and, oh! such a
sweet little hat."

"How nice! And would you take her to market and to church, and to see
the dolls in Mrs. Bicker's window?"

"Yes, dearest, yes."

"And never whip her?"

"My little girl would be very, very good, and oh! so pretty."

"And let her go to grandma's whenever she liked, and not tell grandpa
he's not to give her ha'pennies, would you?"

"Yes ... dear ... yes ... perhaps."

"Are your eyes very sore to-day, Mercy, they are so red?"

But the little one of all was not interested in this turn of the
conversation: "Well, why don't oo have a little boy?"

A dead silence.

"Wont oo, eh?"

Willy was put to the ground. "Let us sing something. Do you like
singing, sweetheart?"

The little fellow climbed back to her lap in excitement. "Me sing, me
sing. Mammy told I a song--me sing it oo."

And without further ceremony the little chap struck up the notes of a
lullaby.

Mercy had learned that same song, as her mother crooned it long ago by
the side of her cot. A great wave of memory and love and sorrow and
remorse, in one, swept over her. It cost her a struggle not to break
into a flood of tears. And the little innocent face looked up at the
ceiling as the sweet child-voice sung the familiar words.

There was a new-comer in the bar outside. It was Hugh Ritson, clad in a
long ulster, with the hood drawn over his hat. He stepped up to the
landlady, who courtesied low from behind the counter. "So he has
returned?" he said, without greeting of any kind.

"Yes, sir, he is back, sir; he got home in the afternoon, sir."

"You told him nothing of any one calling?"

"No, sir--that is to say, sir--not to say told him, sir--but I did
mention--just mention, sir, that--"

Hugh Ritson smiled coldly. "Of course--precisely. Were you more prudent
with the girl?"

"Oh, yes, sir, being as you told me not to name it to the missy--"

"He is asleep, I see."

"Yes, sir; he'd no sooner taken bite and sup than he dropped off in his
chair, same a