Baby piped forth a lusty protest: the street rang again. Ere long
the doors at the top of the steps swung back, and a portly form stood in
the light.

"Halloo! what's the matter?" (This was a general observation into
space.) "Why, bless my heart, here's a child crying on the steps!"

Another form appeared.

"Is there nobody with it? Halloo! any one there?"

No answer came save from poor little Ginx, but his was decided. The two
servants descended the steps and looked at the miserable boy without
touching him. Then they peered into the darkness in hope that they might
get a glimpse of his mother or a policeman. A rapid step sounded on the
pavement and a gentleman came up to the group.

"What have we here?" he said gently.

"It's a child, Sir Charles, I found crying on the steps. I expect it's
a trick to get rid of him. We are looking for a policeman to take him
away."

"Poor little fellow," said Sir Charles, stooping to take a fair look
at Ginx's Baby, "for you and such as you the policeman or the parish
officers are the national guardians, and the prison or the poor-house
the home..... Bring him into the Club, Smirke."

The men hesitated a moment before executing so unwonted a demand,
but Sir Charles Sterling was a man not safely to be thwarted--a late
minister and a member of the committee. The child being carried into the
magnificent hall of the Club, stood on its mosaic floor. From above the
radiance of the gas "sunlight" streamed down over the marble pillars,
and glanced on gilded cornices and panels of scagliola. A statue of the
Queen looked upon him from the niche that opened to the dining-room;
another of the great Puritan soldier, statesman, and ruler, with
his stern massive front; and yet another, with the strong yet gentle
features of the champion Free-Trader, seemed to regard him from their
several corners. On the walls around were portraits of men who had
striven for the deliverance of the people from ancient yokes and
fetters. Of course Ginx's Baby did not see all this. He, poor boy,
dazed, stood with a knuckle in his eye, while the porter, lackeys,
Sir Charles Sterling, and others who strolled out of the reading-room,
curiously regarded him. But any one observing the scene apart might have
contrasted the place with the child--the principles and the professions
whereof this grandeur was the monument and consecrated tabernacle, with
this solitary atomic specimen of the material whereon they were to