t a Mr. Chapman, with his dog
and his child, whom the Mayor had first taken up, but who afterwards,
in some mysterious manner, had taken in the Mayor. Happily, the darker
gossip in the High Street had not penetrated the back lane in which
Merle's sister resided. There, little more was known than the fact
that this mysterious stranger had imposed on the wisdom of Gatesboro's
learned Institute and enlightened Mayor. Merle, at no loss to identify
Waife with Chapman, could only suppose that he had been discovered to
be a strolling player in Rugge's exhibition, after pretending to be
some much greater man. Such an offence the Cobbler was not disposed to
consider heinous. But Mr. Chapman was gone from Gatesboro' none knew
whither; and Merle had not yet ventured to call himself on the chief
magistrate of the place, to inquire after a man by whom that august
personage had been deceived. "Howsomever," quoth Merle, in conclusion,
"I was just standing at my sister's door, with her last babby in my
arms, in Scrob Lane, when I saw you pass by like a shot. You were gone
while I ran in to give up the babby, who is teething, with malefics in
square,--gone, clean out of sight. You took one turn; I took another:
but you see we meet at last, as good men always do in this world or the
other, which is the same thing in the long run."

Waife, who had listened to his friend without other interruption than an
occasional nod of the head or interjectional expletive, was now
restored to much of his constitutional mood of sanguine cheerfulness. He
recognized Mrs. Crane in the woman described; and, if surprised, he was
rejoiced. For, much as he disliked that gentlewoman, he thought Sophy
might be in worse female hands. Without much need of sagacity, he
divined the gist of the truth. Losely had somehow or other become
acquainted with Rugge, and sold Sophy to the manager. Where Rugge was,
there would Sophy be. It could not be very difficult to find out the
place in which Rugge was now exhibiting; and then--ah then! Waife
whistled to Sir Isaac, tapped his forehead, and smiled triumphantly.
Meanwhile the Cobbler had led him back into the suburb, with the kind
intention of offering him food and bed for the night at his sister's
house. But Waife had already formed his plan; in London, and in London
alone, could he be sure to learn where Rugge was now exhibiting; in
London there were places at which that information could be gleaned
at once. The last trai