und again, and hugged it with violent affection,
exclaiming, "Oh! my blessed Matty!"

"The child's name is not Matty; it is Mita," said Mrs Twitter, on
recovering her breath. "What _do_ you mean, girl?"

"Her name is _not_ Mita, it is Matty," returned Hetty, with a flatness
of contradiction that seemed impossible in one so naturally gentle.

Mrs Twitter stood, aghast--bereft of the power of speech or motion.
Mrs Loper and Mrs Larrabel were similarly affected. They soon
recovered, however, and exclaimed in chorus, "What _can_ she mean?"

"Forgive me, ma'am," said Hetty, still holding on to baby, who seemed to
have an idea that she was creating a sensation of some sort, without
requiring to yell, "forgive my rudeness, ma'am, but I really couldn't
help it, for this is my long-lost sister Matilda."

"Sister Matilda!" echoed Mrs Loper.

"Long-lost sister Matilda!" repeated Mrs Larrabel.

"This--is--your--long-lost sister Matilda," rehearsed Mrs Twitter, like
one in a dream.

The situation was rendered still more complex by the sudden entrance of
Mr Twitter and his friend Crackaby.

"What--what--what's to do _now_, Mariar?"

"Sister Matilda!" shouted all three with a gasp.

"Lunatics, every one of 'em," murmured Crackaby.

It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add that a full explanation ensued
when the party became calmer; that Mrs Twitter could not doubt the
veracity of Hetty Frog, but suspected her sanity; that Mrs Frog was
sent for, and was recognised at once by Mr Twitter as the poor woman
who had asked him such wild and unmeaning questions the night on which
he had found the baby; and that Mr and Mrs Twitter, Mrs Loper, Mrs
Larrabel, and Crackaby came to the unanimous conclusion that they had
never heard of such a thing before in the whole course of their united
lives--which lives, when united, as some statisticians would take a
pride in recording, formed two hundred and forty-three years! Poor Mrs
Twitter was as inconsolable at the loss of her baby as Mrs Frog was
overjoyed at the recovery of hers. She therefore besought the latter to
leave little Mita, _alias_ Matty, with her just for one night longer--
only one night--and then she might come for her in the morning, for, you
know, it would have been cruel to remove the child from her warm crib at
that hour to a cold and comfortless lodging.

Of course Mrs Frog readily consented. If Mrs Frog had known the
events that lay in the womb of the next few