ian cities, to note the mirrors there.
In the backwoods, of course, there was nothing large enough in the way
of mirror to show more than his good-looking face.

The portrait now presented to him was that of a broad-chested,
well-made, gentlemanly young man of middle height, in a grey Tweed suit.

"Not _exactly_ tip-top, A1, superfine, you know, Bobby," he muttered to
himself with the memory of former days strong upon him, "but--but--
perhaps not altogether unworthy of--of--a thought or two from little
Martha Mild."

Bob Frog increased in stature, it is said, by full half an inch on that
occasion, and thereafter he walked more rapidly in the direction of
Whitechapel.

With sad and strangely mingled memories he went to the court where his
early years had been spent. It was much the same in disreputableness of
aspect as when he left it. Time had been gnawing at it so long that a
few years more or less made little difference on it, and its inhabitants
had not improved much.

Passing rapidly on he went straight to the Beehive, which he had for
long regarded as his real home, and there, once again, received a hearty
welcome from its ever busy superintendent and her earnest workers; but
how different his circumstances now from those attending his first
reception! His chief object, however, was to inquire the way to the
hospital in which his father lay, and he was glad to learn that the case
of Ned Frog was well-known, and that he was convalescent.

It chanced that a tea-meeting was "on" when he arrived, so he had little
more at the time than a warm shake of the hand from his friends in the
Home, but he had the ineffable satisfaction of leaving behind him a sum
sufficient to give a sixpence to each of the miserable beings who were
that night receiving a plentiful meal for their bodies as well as food
for their souls--those of them, at least, who chose to take the latter.
None refused the former.

On his way to the hospital he saw a remarkably tall policeman
approaching.

"Well, you _are_ a long-legged copper," he muttered to himself, with an
irrepressible laugh as he thought of old times. The old spirit seemed
to revive with the old associations, for he felt a strong temptation to
make a face at the policeman, execute the old double-shuffle, stick his
thumb to the end of his nose, and bolt! As the man drew nearer he did
actually make a face in spite of himself--a face of surprise--which
caused the man to stop.