ou are the boy Herring, sent here by Miss Reading," said
Mrs Dashwood.

"Well, as to that, ma'am, you must be guided by taste. I've 'eard of
men of my years an' standin' bein' styled 'obble-de-'oys. My name,
likewise, is open to question. Some of my friends calls me 'Erring--
others of 'em, Raw 'Erring--others, again, the Bloater. But I'm in no
wise partikler, I _did_ come from Miss Reading to 'ave an interview with
Mrs Dashwood--whom--I presoom--"

Here the Bloater laid his hand on his heart and made a courtly bow.

Mrs Dashwood laughed, and said, "come in, boy."

"I have a pal, ma'am--a chum--a--in fact a _friend_--may I--"

Without finishing his sentence or waiting for a reply, the Bloater gave
a sharp whistle, and Little Jim stood by his side as if by magical
influence, looking the embodiment of united innocence and impudence.

"Come in, both of you, and make haste," said Mary, ushering them into a
small empty room. "Now, boy--"

"Bloater, ma'am, if you 'ave no objection."

"Well, Bloater, our communication with each other must be brief and to
the point, because--"

"Yes, ma'am--sharp and short," interrupted the Bloater--"reasons not
required."

Smiling in spite of herself, Mrs Dashwood said--

"You know Mr Sparks, and can--can--in short, give him into the hands of
justice."

"If I knowed w'ere justice was," said the Bloater, sternly, "p'raps I
might give Mr Sparks into 'is 'ands, but I don't. It's my opinion that
_justice_ ain't finished yet. They've made 'is 'ands no doubt--and
pretty strong ones they are too--but they 'aven't give 'im brains yet.
'Ows'ever, to make a long story short, 'as 'Amlet said to 'is father's
ghost, w'ich was prince of Timbuctoo, I _do_ know Mr Sparks, and I
_can_ give 'im into the 'ands of the p'lice--wot then?"

"_Do it_!" said Mrs Dashwood, with sudden intensity of feeling and
manner, "Do it, boy--" ("Bloater," murmured the lad), "do it, Bloater.
Oh! you have no idea what a blessing it would be to--to--to--a poor,
dear girl who is mad--infatuated and, and--then, he is _such_ a
scoundrel; such a fire-raiser, deceiver, villain--"

"You don't appear to like 'im yourself," remarked the Bloater.

He said this so quietly and with an air of calmness which contrasted so
strongly with Mrs Dashwood's excitement, that Little Jim gave vent to
an irresistible "sk" and blew his nose violently to distract attention
from it.

"Will you not consent to give up a thorough scound