I would not
treat her badly, sir, but there are limits; and, of course, as you say,
your night's sleep must not be broken. Rather than that should happen,
Mr Martin, I would send the child to the workhouse, for, of course, she
has no legal claim on us. If you will be so kind, sir, as to give me
until to-morrow morning, I will then let you know what I have decided to
do with the baby, and I faithfully promise that you are not to be
disturbed to-night, sir.'

'That is all right,' said Mr Martin, with a mollified air. 'Of course it
is not to be expected that an old bachelor such as I am should be worried
by an infant's screams. The screams of a baby have to me an appalling
sound. Do what you think well with the child, ma'am, and let me know in
the morning; only I may as well state that I think the workhouse an
extreme measure.'

Then Mr Martin left the house. Mrs Franklin followed him out of the
room, and Flossy crept slowly back to the nursery.

Mrs Franklin did not notice her little daughter, and Flossy did not
venture to address her mother. She came into the room where Peter and
Snip-snap were doing their utmost for the baby. Peter had her in his
arms, and was walking up and down with her, and Snip-snap was bounding
after a ball and tossing it into the air for her benefit.

'She's to go, Peter,' said Flossy. 'I guessed it--I guessed it quite
well last night. She's to go away to the workhouse--that's what mother
said; I heard her telling Mr Martin so.'

'She's not!' said Peter. He turned very pale, and, still holding the
child in his arms, sat down on the nearest chair.

It is to be doubted whether this poor neglected baby had ever been
christened. The children had given her a name of their own; they had
called her Dickory Dock. The reason they had given her this distinctive
title was because the first amusement which had brought a smile to her
little face had been the old play of Dickory Dock and the mouse that ran
up the clock.

'She said it,' repeated Flossy, coming up close to her brother, and
fixing her anxious eyes on the baby. 'She said that our Dickory was to
go to the workhouse.'

'Well then, she shan't!' said Peter. 'I know nothing about workhouses,
but I expect they are very nasty places, and Dickory shan't go there!'

Then he sat silent, his arm round the little child, who looked up at him
and then back at Flossy, and then smiled in that wonderfully pathetic way
she had.

'Look her