with a little corkscrew which had also been sent, kept
the precious liquid in readiness to give to Giles should he feel faint.

Eleven o'clock rang out in Big Ben's great and solemn voice. Connie was
very much startled when she heard the great notes; but, to her surprise,
Giles did not take any notice. He lay happy, with an expression on his
face which showed that his thoughts were far away.

"Connie," he said after a minute, "be yer really meanin' to spend the
night with me?"

"Oh yus," said Connie, "ef yer'll 'ave me."

"You've to think of your father, Connie--he may come back. He may miss
yer. Yer ought to go back and see him, and leave him a message."

"I were thinking that," said Connie; "and I won't be long. I'll come
straight over here the very minute I can, and ef Sue has returned----"

"Sue won't come back--not yet," said Giles.

"Why, Giles--how do you know?"

"Jesus Christ told me jest now through the Woice o' Big Ben," said the
boy.

"Oh Giles--wot?"

"'E said, 'Castin' all your care on God, for He careth for you.' I ha'
done it, and I'm not frettin' no more. Sue's all right; God's a-takin'
care of her. I don't fret for Sue now, no more than I fretted for you.
But run along and tell your father, and come back." Connie went.

At this hour of night the slums of Westminster are not the nicest place
in the world for so pretty a girl to be out. Connie, too, was known by
several people, and although in her old clothes, and with her hair
fastened round her head, she did not look nearly so striking as when
Mammy Warren had used her as a decoy-duck in order to pursue her
pickpocket propensities, yet still her little face was altogether on a
different plane from the ordinary slum children.

"W'y, Connie," said a rough woman, "come along into my den an' tell us
yer story."

"Is it Connie Harris?" screamed another. "W'y, gel, w'ere hever were yer
hall this time? A nice hue and cry yer made! Stop 'ere this minute and
tell us w'ere yer ha' been."

"I can't," said Connie. "Giles is bad, and Sue ain't come 'ome. I want
jest to see father, and then to go back to Giles. Don't keep me,
neighbors."

Now, these rough people--the roughest and the worst, perhaps, in the
land--had some gleams of good in them; and little Giles was a person
whom every one had a soft word for.

"A pore little cripple!" said the woman who had first spoken.--"Get you
along at once, Connie; he's in."

"I be sorry as the cripple's b