"Excuse me," said Bob, with much of his old bluntness, "are not you
Number 666?"

"That is not my number now, sir, though I confess it was once," answered
the policeman, with a humorous twinkle of the eye.

Bobby noticed the word "sir," and felt elated. It was almost more than
waif-and-stray human nature could stand to be respectfully "sirred" by a
London policeman--his old foe, whom, in days gone by and on occasions
innumerable, he had scorned, scouted, and insulted, with all the
ingenuity of his fertile brain.

"Your name is Giles Scott, is it not?" he asked.

"It is, sir."

"Do you remember a little ragged boy who once had his leg broken by a
runaway pony at the West-end--long ago?"

"Yes, as well as if I'd seen him yesterday. His name was Bobby Frog,
and a sad scamp he was, though it is said he's doing well in Canada."

"He must 'ave changed considerable," returned Bob, reverting to his old
language with wonderful facility, "w'en Number 666 don't know 'im. Yes,
in me, Robert Frog, Esquire, of Chikopow Farm, Canada Vest, you be'old
your ancient henemy, who is on'y too 'appy to 'ave the chance of axin
your parding for all the trouble he gave you, an' all the 'ard names he
called you in days gone by."

Bobby held out his hand as he spoke, and you may be sure our huge
policeman was not slow to grasp it, and congratulate the stray on his
improved circumstances.

We have not time or space to devote to the conversation which ensued.
It was brief, but rapid and to the point, and in the course of it Bob
learned that Molly was as well, and as bright and cheery as ever--also
somewhat stouter; that Monty was in a fair way to become a real
policeman, having just received encouragement to expect admission to the
force when old enough, and that he was in a fair way to become as
sedate, wise, zealous, and big as his father; also, that little Jo aimed
at the same honourable and responsible position, and was no longer
little.

Being anxious, however, to see his father, Bob cut the conversation
short, and, having promised to visit his old enemy, hastened away.

The ward of the hospital in which Bob soon found himself was a sad
place. Clean and fresh, no doubt, but very still, save when a weary
sigh or a groan told of suffering. Among the beds, which stood in a
row, each with its head against the wall, one was pointed out on which a
living skeleton lay. The face was very very pale, and it seemed as if
the angel of