bring you word what I think about him."

The doctor was absent about a quarter of an hour. While he was away
Connie never moved, but stood up leaning against the door-post, puzzling
her brains to think out an almost impossible problem. When the doctor
reappeared she did not even ask how Giles was. Kind Dr. Deane looked at
her; his face was wonderfully grave. After a minute he said:

"I think, Connie, I'd find that little sister as quickly as I could. The
boy is very, very weak. If there is one desire now in his heart,
however, it is just to see Sue once more."

"I ha' give him my word," said Connie. "I'm goin' to find Sue ef--ef I
never see Giles agin."

"But you mustn't leave him for long," said the doctor. "Have you no plan
in your head? You cannot find a girl who is lost as Sue is lost in this
great London without some clue."

"I ain't got any clue," said Connie, "but I'll try and find Pickles."

"Whoever is Pickles?" asked the doctor.

"'E knows--I'm sartin sure," said Connie. "I'll try and find him, and
then----"

"Well, don't leave Giles alone. Is there a neighbor who would sit with
him?"

"I won't leave him alone," said Connie.

The doctor then went away. Connie was about to return to Giles, if only
for a few minutes, when, as though in answer to an unspoken prayer, the
red-headed Pickles appeared in sight. His hair was on end; his face was
pale; he was consumed with anxiety; in short, he did not seem to be the
same gay-hearted Pickles whom Connie had last met with. When he saw
Connie, however, the sight of that sweet and sad face seemed to pull him
together.

"Now must I give her a blow, or must I not?" thought Pickles to himself.
"It do seem 'ard. There's naught, a'most, I wouldn't do for pore
Cinderella; but w'en I have to plant a dart in the breast of that 'ere
most beauteous crittur, I feels as it's bitter 'ard. W'y, she 'ud make
me a most captiwatin' wife some day. Now, Pickles, my boy, wot have you
got in the back o' your 'ead? Is it in love you be--an' you not fourteen
years of age? Oh, fie, Pickles! What would yer mother s'y ef she knew?"

Pickles slapped his hand with a mighty thump against his boyish breast.

"That's the w'y to treat nonsense," he said aloud. "Be'ave o' yerself,
Pickles--fie for shame, Pickles! That 'ere beauteous maid is to be
worshipped from afar--jest like a star. I do declare I'm turnin'
po-ettical!"

"Pickles!" called Connie at this moment. "Stop!"

"Pickles be