soon managed, in the capacity of a common labourer, to scrape enough
money together to enable him to retake his old garret, which chanced to
be vacant. Indeed its situation was so airy, and it was so undesirable,
that it was almost always vacant. He bought a few cages and birds;
found that the old manager of the low music-hall was still at work and
ready to employ him, and thus fell very much into his old line of life.

One night, as he was passing into his place of business--the
music-hall--a man saw him and recognised him. This was a city
missionary of the John Seaward type, who chanced to be fishing for souls
that night in these troubled waters. There are many such fishermen
about, thank God, doing their grand work unostentatiously, and not only
rescuing souls for eternity, but helping, more perhaps than even the
best informed are aware of, to save London from tremendous evil.

What it was in Ned Frog that attracted this man of God we know note but,
after casting his lines for some hours in other places, he returned to
the music-hall and loitered about the door.

At a late hour its audience came pouring out with discordant cries and
ribald laughter. Soon Ned appeared and took his way homeward. The
missionary followed at a safe distance till he saw Ned disappear through
the doorway that led to his garret. Then, running forward, he entered
the dark passage and heard Ned's heavy foot clanking on the stone steps
as he mounted upwards.

The sound became fainter, and the missionary, fearing lest he should
fail to find the room in which his man dwelt--for there were many rooms
in the old tenement--ran hastily up-stairs and paused to listen. The
footsteps were still sounding above him, but louder now, because Ned was
mounting a wooden stair. A few seconds later a heavy door was banged,
and all was quiet.

The city missionary now groped his way upwards until he came to the
highest landing, where in the thick darkness he saw a light under a
door. With a feeling of uncertainty and a silent prayer for help he
knocked gently. The door was opened at once by a middle-aged woman,
whose outline only could be seen, her back being to the light.

"Is it here that the man lives who came up just now?" asked the
missionary.

"What man?" she replied, fiercely, "I know nothink about men, an' 'ave
nothink to do with 'em. Ned Frog's the on'y man as ever comes 'ere, an'
_he_ lives up there."

She made a motion, as if pointi