In the meantime, as I had not my rich parents' money to spend, we had to play in all the villages through which we passed to get money for our food. And I also wanted to make some money to buy a present for Lise. Mother Barberin had said that she valued the cow more than anything I could give her when I became rich, and perhaps, I thought, Lise would feel the same about a gift. I wanted to give her a doll. Fortunately a doll would not cost so much as a cow. The next town we came to I bought her a lovely doll with fair hair and blue eyes.

Walking along the banks of the canal I often thought of Mrs. Milligan and Arthur and their beautiful barge, and wondered if we should meet it on the canal. But we never saw it.

One evening we could see in the distance the house where Lise lived. It stood amongst the trees and seemed to be in an atmosphere of mist. We could see the window lit up by the flames from a big fire inside. The reddish light fell across our path as we drew nearer. My heart beat quickly. I could see them inside having supper. The door and the window were shut, but there were no curtains to the window, and I looked in and saw Lise sitting beside her aunt. I signed to Mattia and Capi to be silent, and then taking my harp from my shoulder, I put it on the ground.

"Oh, yes," whispered Mattia, "a serenade. What a fine idea!"

"No, not you; I'll play alone."

I struck the first notes of my Neapolitan song. I did not sing, for I did not want my voice to betray me. As I played, I looked at Lise. She raised her head quickly and her eyes sparkled. Then I commenced to sing. She jumped from her chair and ran to the door. In a moment she was in my arms. Aunt Catherine then came out and invited us in to supper. Lise quickly placed two plates on the table.

"If you don't mind," I said, "will you put a third; we have a little friend with us." And I pulled out the doll from my bag and placed her in the chair next to Lise. The look that she gave me I shall never forget!



CHAPTER XXV

MOTHER, BROTHERS AND SISTERS

If I had not been in a hurry to get to Paris I should have stayed a long time with Lise. We had so much to say to each other and could say so little in the language that we used. She told me with signs how good her uncle and aunt had been to her and what beautiful rides she had in the barges, and I told her how I had nearly perished in the mine where Alexix worked and that my family were looking for me. That was the reason that I was hurrying to Paris and that was why it had been impossible for me to go and see Etiennette.

Naturally most of the talk was about my family, my rich family and all I would do when I had money. I would make her father, brothers, sisters, and above all herself, happy. Lise, unlike Mattia, was delighted. She quite believed that if one had money one ought to be very happy, because, would not her father have been happy if he had only had the money to pay his debts? We took long walks, all three of us, Lise, Mattia and I, accompanied by the doll and Capi. I was very happy those few days. In the evening we sat in front of the house when it was not too damp and before the fireplace when the mist was thick. I played the harp and Mattia played his violin or cornet. Lise preferred the harp, which made me very proud. When the time came and we had to separate and go to bed, I played and sang her my Neapolitan song.

Yet we had to part and go on our way. I told her that I would come back for her soon. My last words to her were: "I'll come and fetch you in a carriage drawn by four horses."

And she quite believed me and she made a motion as though she were cracking a whip to urge on the horses. She also, the same as I, could see my riches and my horses and carriages.

I was so eager to get to Paris now that if it had not been for Mattia I would have stopped only to collect what was absolutely necessary for our food. We had no cow to buy now, nor doll. It was not for me to take money to my rich parents.

"Let us get all we can," said Mattia, forcing me to take my harp, "for we don't know if we shall find Barberin at once. One would think that you had forgotten that night when you were dying of hunger."

"Oh, I haven't," I said lightly, "but we're sure to find him at once. You wait."

"Yes, but I have not forgotten how I leaned up against the church that day when you found me. Ah, I don't want to be hungry in Paris."

"We'll dine all the better when we get to my parents'," I replied.

"Well, let's work just as though we are buying another cow," urged Mattia.

This was very wise advice but I must admit that I did not sing with the same spirit. To get the money to buy a cow for Mother Barberin or a doll for Lise was quite a different matter.

"How lazy you'll be when you're rich," said Mattia. The nearer we got to Paris the gayer I became; and the more melancholy grew Mattia. As I had assured him that we should not be parted I wondered why he should be sad now. Finally, when we reached the gates of Paris, he told me how great was his fear of Garofoli, and that if he saw him he knew that he would take him again.

"You know how afraid you are of Barberin, so you can imagine how I fear Garofoli. If he's out of prison he'll be sure to catch me. Oh, my poor head; how he used to bang it! And then he will part us; of course he'd like to have you as one of his pupils, but he could not force you to stay, but he has a right to me. He's my uncle."

I had not thought of Garofoli. I arranged with Mattia that I should go to the various places that Mother Barberin had mentioned as to where I might find Barberin. Then I would go to the Rue Mouffetard and after that he should meet me at seven o'clock outside the Notre Dame Cathedral.

We parted as though we were never going to meet again. Mattia went in one direction, I in another. I had written down on paper the names of the places where Barberin had lived before. I went first to one place, then to another. At one lodging house they told me that he had lived there four years ago but that he had not been there since. The landlord told me that he'd like to catch the rogue, for he owed him one week's rent. I grew very despondent. There was only one place left for me to inquire; that was at a restaurant. The man who kept the place said that he had not seen him for a very long time, but one of the customers sitting eating at a table called out that he had been living at the Hotel du Cantal of late.

Before going to the Hotel du Cantal I went to Garofoli's place to see if I could find out something about him so that I could take back some news to poor Mattia. When I reached the yard I saw, as on my first visit, the same old man hanging up dirty rags outside the door.

"Has Garofoli returned?" I asked.

The old man looked at me without replying, then began to cough. I could see that he would not tell me anything unless I let him know that I knew all about Garofoli.

"You don't mean to say he is still in prison?" I exclaimed. "Why, I thought he'd got out long ago."

"No, he's got another three months yet."

Garofoli three more months in prison! Mattia could breathe. I left the horrible yard as quickly as possible and hurried off to the Hotel du Cantal. I was full of hope and joy and quite disposed to think kindly of Barberin; if it had not been for Barberin, I might have died of cold and hunger when I was a baby. It was true he had taken me from Mother Barberin to sell me to a stranger, but then he had no liking for me and perhaps he was forced to do it for the money. After all it was through him that I was finding my parents. So now I ought not to harbor any bitterness against him.

I soon reached the Hotel du Cantal which was only a hotel in name, being nothing better than a miserable lodging house.

"I want to see a man named Barberin; he comes from Chavanon," I said to a dirty old woman who sat at a desk. She was very deaf and asked me to repeat what I had said.

"Do you know a man named Barberin?" I shouted.

Then she threw up her hands to heaven so abruptly that the cat sleeping on her knees sprang down in terror.

"Alas! Alas!" she cried, then she added: "Are you the boy he was looking for?"

"Oh, you know?" I cried excitedly. "Well, where's Barberin?"

"Dead," she replied, laconically.

I leaned on my harp.

"Dead!" I cried loud enough for her to hear. I was dazed. How should I find my parents now?

"You're the boy they're looking for; I'm sure you are," said the old woman again.

"Yes, yes, I'm the boy. Where's my family? Can you tell me?"

"I don't know any more than just what I've told you, my boy; I should say my young gentleman."

"What did Barberin say about my parents? Oh, do tell me," I said imploringly.

She threw her arms up towards heaven.

"Ah, if that isn't a story!"

"Well, tell it me. What is it?"

At this moment a woman who looked like a servant came forward. The mistress of the Hotel du Cantal turned to her: "If this isn't an affair! This boy here, this young gentleman, is the man Barberin talked so much about."

"But didn't Barberin speak to you about my family?" I asked.

"I should say so—more than a hundred times. A very rich family it is, that you've got, my boy, my young gentleman."

"And where do they live and what is their name?"

"Barberin wouldn't tell us anything. He was that mysterious. He wanted to get all the reward for himself."

"Didn't he leave any papers?"

"No, nothing except one that said he came from Chavanon. If we hadn't found that, we couldn't have let his wife know he's dead."

"Oh, you did let her know?"

"Sure, why not?"

I could learn nothing from the old woman. I turned slowly towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Back to my friend."

"Ah, you have a friend! Does he live in Paris?"

"We got to Paris only this morning."

"Well, if you haven't a place to lodge in, why don't you come here? You will be well taken care of and it's an honest house. If your family get tired of waiting to hear from Barberin they may come here and then they'll find you. What I say is for your own interest. What age is your friend?"

"He is a little younger than I."

"Just think! two boys on the streets of Paris! You could get into such a bad place; now this is real respectable on account of the locality."

The Hotel du Cantal was one of the dirtiest lodging houses that I had ever seen and I had seen some pretty dirty ones! But what the old woman said was worth considering, besides we could not be particular. I had not found my family in their beautiful Paris mansion yet. Mattia had been right to want to get all the money we could on our way to the city. What should we have done if we had not our seventeen francs in our pockets?

"How much will you charge for a room for my friend and myself?" I asked.

"Ten cents a day. That's not much."

"Well, we'll come back to-night."

"Come back early; Paris is a bad place at night for boys," she called after me.

Night was falling. The street lamps were lit. I had a long way to walk to the Cathedral, where I was to meet Mattia. All my high spirits had vanished. I was very tired and all around me seemed gloomy. In this great Paris full of light and noise I felt so utterly alone. Would I ever find my own people? Was I ever to see my real mother and my real father? When I reached the Cathedral I had still twenty minutes to wait for Mattia. I felt this night that I needed his friendship more than ever. What a comfort it was to think that I was going to see him so gay, so kind, such a friend!

A little before seven I heard a quirk hark, then out of the shadows jumped Capi! He sprang onto my knees and licked me with his soft wet tongue. I hugged him in my arms and kissed his cold nose. It was not long before Mattia appeared. In a few words I told him that Barberin was dead and that there was now little hope that I could ever find my family. Then he gave me all the sympathy of which I was in need. He tried to console me and told me not to despair. He wished as sincerely as I that we could find my parents.

We returned to the Hotel du Cantal. The next morning I wrote to Mother Barberin to express my grief for her loss and to ask her if she had had any news from her husband before he died. By return mail she sent me word that her husband had written to her from the hospital, where they had taken him, and said that if he did not get better she was to write to Greth and Galley's, Lincoln Square, London, for they were the lawyers who were looking for me. He told her that she was not to take any steps until she was sure that he was dead.

"We must go to London," said Mattia, when I had finished reading the letter that the priest had written for her. "If the lawyers are English, that shows that your parents are English."

"Oh, I'd rather be the same as Lise and the others. But," I added, "if I'm English I'll be the same as Mrs. Milligan and Arthur."

"I'd rather you were Italian," said Mattia.

In a few minutes our baggage was ready and we were off. It took us eight days to hike from Paris to Bologne, stopping at the principal towns en route. When we reached Bologne we had thirty-two francs in our purse. We took passage on a cargo boat that was going the next day to London. What a rough journey we had! Poor Mattia declared that he would never go on the sea again. When at last we were steaming up the Thames I begged him to get up and see the wonderful sights, but he implored me to let him alone. At last the engine stopped and the ropes were thrown to the ground, and we landed in London.

I knew very little English, but Mattia had picked up quite a great deal from an Englishman who had worked with him at the Gassot Circus. When we landed he at once asked a policeman to direct us to Lincoln Square. It seemed to be a very long way. Many times we thought that we had lost ourselves but again upon making inquiries we found that we were going in the right direction. Finally we reached Temple Bar and a few steps further we came to Green Square.

My heart heat so quickly when we stood before the door of Greth and Galley's office that I had to ask Mattia to wait a moment until I had recovered myself. After Mattia had stated to the clerk my name and my business, we were shown at once into the private office of the head of the firm, Mr. Greth. Fortunately this gentleman spoke French, so I was able to speak to him myself. He questioned me upon every detail of my life. My answers evidently convinced him that I was the boy he was looking for, for he told me that I had a family living in London and that he would send me to them at once.

"One moment, sir. Have I a father?" I asked, scarcely able to say the word "father."

"Yes, not only a father, but a mother, brothers and sisters," he replied.

"Oh...."

He touched a bell and a clerk appeared whom he told to take charge of us.

"Oh, I had forgotten," said Mr. Greth, "your name is Driscoll; your father's name is Mr. John Driscoll."

In spite of Mr. Greth's ugly face I think I could have jumped at him and hugged him if he had given me time, but with his hand he indicated the door and we followed the clerk.



CHAPTER XXVI

BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

When we got to the street the clerk hailed a cab and told us to jump in. The strange looking vehicle, with the coachman sitting on a box at the back of a hood that covered us, I learned later was a hansom cab. Mattia and I were huddled in a corner with Capi between our legs. The clerk took up the rest of the seat. Mattia had heard him tell the coachman to drive us to Bethnal-Green. The driver seemed none too anxious to take us there. Mattia and I thought it was probably on account of the distance. We both knew what "Green" meant in English, and Bethnal-Green undoubtedly was the name of the park where my people lived. For a long time the cab rolled through the busy streets of London. It was such a long way that I thought perhaps their estate was situated on the outskirts of the city. The word "green" made us think that it might be in the country. But nothing around us announced the country. We were in a very thickly populated quarter; the black mud splashed our cab as we drove along; then we turned into a much poorer part of the city and every now and again the cabman pulled up as though he did not know his way. At last he stopped altogether and through the little window of the hansom a discussion took place between Greth & Galley's clerk and the bewildered cabman. From what Mattia could learn the man said that it was no use, he could not find his way, and he asked the clerk which direction he should take. The clerk replied that he did not know for he had never been in that thieves' locality before. We both caught the word "thieves." Then the clerk gave some money to the coachman and told us to get out of the cab. The man grumbled at his fare and then turned round and drove off. We were standing now in a muddy street before what the English call a gin palace. Our guide looked about him in disgust, then entered the swing-doors of the gin palace. We followed. Although we were in a miserable part of the city I had never seen anything more luxurious. There were gilt framed mirrors everywhere, glass chandeliers and a magnificent counter that shone like silver. Yet the people who filled this place were filthy and in rags. Our guide gulped down a drink standing before the beautiful counter, then asked the man who had served him if he could direct him to the place he wanted to find. Evidently he got the information he required for he hurried out again through the swing-doors, we following close on his heels. The streets through which we walked now were even narrower and from one house across to another were swung wash lines from which dirty rags were hanging. The women who sat in their doorways were pale and their matted fair hair hung loose over their shoulders. The children were almost naked and the few clothes that they did wear were but rags. In the alley were some pigs wallowing in the stagnant water from which a fetid odor arose. Our guide stopped. Evidently he had lost his way. But at this moment a policeman appeared. The clerk spoke to him and the officer told him he would show him the way.... We followed the policeman down more narrow streets. At last we stopped at a yard in the middle of which was a little pond.

"This is Red Lion Court," said the officer.

Why were we stopping there? Could it be possible that my parents lived in this place? The policeman knocked at the door of a wooden hut and our guide thanked him. So we had arrived. Mattia took my hand and gently pressed it. I pressed his. We understood one another. I was as in a dream when the door was opened and we found ourselves in a room with a big fire burning in the grate.

Before the fire in a large cane chair sat an old man with a white beard, and his head covered with a black skull cap. At a table sat a man of about forty and a woman about six years his junior. She must have been very pretty once but now her eyes had a glassy stare and her manners were listless. Then there were four children—two boys and two girls—all very fair like their mother. The eldest boy was about eleven, the youngest girl, scarcely three. I did not know what the clerk was saying to the man, I only caught the name "Driscoll," my name, so the lawyer had said. All eyes were turned on Mattia and me, only the baby girl paid attention to Capi.

"Which one is Remi?" asked the man in French.

"I am," I said, taking a step forward.

"Then come and kiss your father, my boy."

When I had thought of this moment I had imagined that I should be overwhelmed with happiness and spring into my father's arms, but I felt nothing of the kind. I went up and kissed my father.

"Now," he said, "there's your grandfather, your mother, your brothers and sisters."

I went up to my mother first and put my arms about her. She let me kiss her but she did not return my caress; she only said two or three words which I did not understand.

"Shake hands with your grandfather," said my father, "and go gently; he's paralyzed."

I also shook hands with my brothers and my eldest sister. I wanted to take the little one in my arms but she was too occupied with Capi and pushed me away. As I went from one to the other I was angry with myself. Why could I not feel any pleasure at having found my family at last. I had a father, a mother, brothers, sisters and a grandfather. I had longed for this moment, I had been mad with joy in thinking that I, like other boys, would have a family that I could call my own to love me and whom I could love.... And now I was staring at my family curiously, finding nothing in my heart to say to them, not a word of affection. Was I a monster? If I had found my parents in a palace instead of in a hovel should I have had more affection for them? I felt ashamed at this thought. Going over again to my mother I put my arms round her and kissed her full on the lips. Evidently she did not understand what made me do this, for instead of returning my kisses she looked at me in a listless manner, then turning to her husband, my father, she shrugged her shoulders and said something that I could not understand but which made him laugh. Her indifference and my father's laugh went right to my heart. It did not seem to me that my affection should have been received in such a way.

"Who is he?" asked my father, pointing to Mattia. I told him that Mattia was my dearest friend and how much I owed him.

"Good," said my father; "would he like to stay and see the country?" I was about to answer for Mattia, but he spoke first.

"That's just what I want," he exclaimed.

My father then asked why Barberin had not come with me. I told him that he was dead. He seemed pleased to hear this. He repeated it to my mother, who also seemed pleased. Why were they both pleased that Barberin was dead?

"You must be rather surprised that we have not searched for you for thirteen years," said my father, "and then suddenly to go off and look up this man who found you when you were a baby."

I told him that I was very surprised, and that I'd like to know about it.

"Come near the fire then and I'll tell you all about it."

I flung the bag from my shoulders and took the chair that he offered me. As I stretched out my legs, wet, and covered with mud, to the fire my grandfather spat on one side, like an old cat that is annoyed.

"Don't pay any attention to him," said my father; "the old chap doesn't like any one to sit before his fire, but you needn't mind him, if you're cold."

I was surprised to hear any one speak like this of an old man. I kept my legs under my chair, for I thought that attention should be paid to him.

"You are my eldest son now," said my father; "you were born a year after my marriage with your mother. When I married there was a young girl who thought that I was going to marry her, and out of revenge she stole you from us when you were six months old. We searched everywhere for you but we did not go so far as Paris. We thought that you were dead until three months ago when this woman was dying she confessed the truth. I went over to France at once and the police in that locality where you had been left, told me that you had been adopted by a mason named Barberin who lived at Chavanon. I found him and he told me that he had loaned you to a musician named Vitalis and that you were tramping through France. I could not stay over there any longer, but I left Barberin some money and told him to search for you, and when he had news to write to Greth and Galley. I did not give him my address here, because we are only in London during the winter; the rest of the year we travel through England and Scotland. We are peddlers by trade, and I have my own caravans. There, boy, that is how it is you have come back to us after thirteen years. You may feel a little timid at first because you can't understand us, but you'll soon pick up English and be able to talk to your brothers and sisters. It won't be long before you're used to us."

Yes, of course I should get used to them; were they not my own people? The fine baby linen, the beautiful clothes had not spoken the truth. But what did that matter! Affection was worth more than riches. It was not money that I pined for, but to have affection, a family and a home. While my father was talking to me they had set the table for supper. A large joint of roast beef with potatoes round it was placed in the middle of the table.

"Are you hungry, boys?" asked my father, addressing Mattia and myself. Mattia showed his white teeth.

"Well, sit down to table."

But before sitting down he pushed my grandfather's cane rocker up to the table. Then taking his own place with his back to the fire, he commenced to cut the roast beef and gave each one a fine big slice and some potatoes.

Although I had not been brought up exactly on the principle of good breeding, I noticed that my brothers and sister's behaved very badly at table; they ate more often with their fingers, sticking them into the gravy and licking them without my father and mother seeming to notice them. As to my grandfather, he gave his whole attention to what was before him, and the one hand that he was able to use went continually from his plate to his mouth. When he let a piece fall from his shaking fingers my brothers and sisters laughed.

I thought that we should spend the evening together round the fire, but my father said that he was expecting friends, and told us to go to bed. Beckoning to Mattia and me he took a candle and went out to a stable that led from the room where we had been eating. In this stable were two big caravans. He opened the door of one and we saw two small beds, one above the other.

"There you are, boys, there are your beds," he said. "Sleep well."

Such was the welcome into my family.



CHAPTER XXVII

A DISTRESSING DISCOVERY

My father left the candle with us, but locked the caravan on the outside. We got into bed as quickly as possible, without chatting, as was our habit. Mattia did not seem to want to talk any more than I and I was pleased that he was silent. We blew the candle out, but I found it impossible to go to sleep. I thought over all that had passed, turning over and over in my narrow bed. I could hear Mattia, who occupied the berth above mine, turn over restlessly also. He could not sleep any more than I.

Hours passed. As it grew later a vague fear oppressed me. I felt uneasy, but I could not understand why it was that I felt so. Of what was I afraid? Not of sleeping in a caravan even in this vile part of London! How many times in my vagabond life had I spent the night less protected than I was at this moment! I knew that I was sheltered from all danger and yet I was oppressed with a fear that amounted almost to terror.

The hours passed one after the other; suddenly I heard a noise at the stable door which opened onto another street. Then came several regular knocks at intervals. Then a light penetrated our caravan. I glanced hastily round in surprise and Capi, who slept beside my bed, woke up with a growl. I then saw that this light came in through a little window of the caravan against which our berths were placed, and which I had not noticed when going to bed because there was a curtain hanging over it. The upper part of this window touched Mattia's bed and the lower part touched mine. Afraid that Capi might wake up all the house, I put my hand over his mouth, then looked outside.

My father had entered the stable and quietly opened the door on the other side, then he closed it again in the same cautious manner after admitting two men heavily laden with bundles which they carried on their shoulders. Then he placed his finger on his lip, and with the other hand which held the lantern, he pointed to the caravan in which we were sleeping. I was about to call out that they need not mind us, but I was afraid I should wake up Mattia, who now, I thought, was sleeping quietly, so I kept still. My father helped the two men unload their bundles, then he disappeared, but soon he returned with my mother. During his absence the men had opened their baggage. There were hats, underclothes, stockings, gloves, etc. Evidently these men were merchants who had come to sell their goods to my parents. My father took each object and examined it by the light of the lantern and passed it on to my mother, who with a little pair of scissors cut off the tickets and put them in her pocket. This appeared strange to me, as also the hour that they had chosen for this sale.

While my mother was examining the goods my father spoke to the men in a whisper. If I had known English a little better I should perhaps have caught what he said, but all I could hear was the word "police," that was said several times and for that reason caught my ear.

When all the goods had been carefully noted, my parents and the two men went into the house, and again our caravan was in darkness. They had evidently gone inside to settle the bill. I wanted to convince myself that what I had seen was quite natural, yet despite my desire I could not believe so. Why had not these men who had come to see my parents entered by the other door? Why did they talk of the police in whispers as though they were afraid of being heard outside? Why had my mother cut off the tickets after she had bought the goods? I could not drive these thoughts from my mind. After a time a light again filled our caravan. I looked out this time in spite of myself. I told myself that I ought not to look, and yet ... I looked. I told myself that it was better that I should not know, and yet I wanted to see.

My father and mother were alone. While my mother quickly made a bundle of the goods, my father swept a corner of the stable. Under the dry sand that he heaped up there was a trap door. He lifted it. By then my mother had finished tying up the bundles and my father took them and lowered them through the trap to a cellar below, my mother holding the lantern to light him. Then he shut the trap door and swept the sand over it again. Over the sand they both strewed wisps of straw as on the rest of the stable floor. Then they went out.

At the moment when they softly closed the door it seemed to me that Mattia moved in his bed and that he lay back on his pillow. Had he seen? I did not dare ask him. From head to foot I was in a cold perspiration. I remained in this state all night long. A cock crowed at daybreak; then only did I drop off to sleep.

The noise of the key being turned in the door of our caravan the next morning woke me. Thinking that it was my father who had come to tell us that it was time to get up, I closed my eyes so as not to see him.

"It was your brother," said Mattia; "he has unlocked the door and he's gone now."

We dressed. Mattia did not ask me if I had slept well, neither did I put the question to him. Once I caught him looking at me and I turned my eyes away.

We had to go to the kitchen, but neither my father nor mother were there. My grandfather was seated before the fire in his big chair as though he had not moved since the night before, and my eldest sister, whose name was Annie, was wiping the table. Allen, my eldest brother, was sweeping the room. I went over to them to wish them good morning, but they continued with their work without taking any notice of me. I went towards my grandfather, but he would not let me get near him, and like the evening before, he spat at my side, which stopped me short.

"Ask them," I said to Mattia, "what time I shall see my mother and father?"

Mattia did as I told him, and my grandfather, upon hearing one of us speak English, seemed to feel more amiable.

"What does he say?"

"He says that your father has gone out for the day and that your mother is asleep, and that if we like we may go out."

"Did he only say that?" I asked, finding this translation very short.

Mattia seemed confused.

"I don't know if I understood the rest," he said.

"Tell me what you think you understood."

"It seemed to me that he said that if we found some bargains in the city we were not to miss them. He said that we lived at the expense of fools."

My grandfather must have guessed that Mattia was explaining what he had said to me, for with the hand that was not paralyzed, he made a motion as though he were slipping something into his pocket, then he winked his eye.

"Let us go out," I said quickly.

For two or three hours we walked about, not daring to go far for fear we might become lost. Bethnal-Green was even more horrible in the daytime than it had been at night. Mattia and I hardly spoke a word. Now and again he pressed my hand.

When we returned to the house my mother had not left her room. Through the open door I could see that she was leaning her head on the table. Thinking that she was sick I ran to her to kiss her, as I was unable to speak to her. She lifted up her head, which swayed. She looked at me but did not see me. I smelled the odor of gin on her hot breath. I drew back. Her head fell again on her arms resting on the table.

"Gin," said my grandfather, grinning.

I remained motionless. I felt turned to stone. I don't know how long I stood so. Suddenly I turned to Mattia. He was looking at me with eyes full of tears. I signed to him and again we left the house. For a long time we walked about, side by side, holding each other's hands, saying nothing, going straight before us without knowing where we were going.

"Where do you want to go, Remi?" he asked at last, anxiously.

"I don't know. Somewhere so we can talk. I want to speak to you, Mattia. We can't talk in this crowd."

We had by this time come to a much wider street at the end of which was a public garden. We hurried to this spot and sat down on a bench.

"You know how much I love you, Mattia boy," I began, "and you know that it was through friendship for you that I asked you to come with me to see my people. You won't doubt my friendship, no matter what I ask of you?"

"Don't be such a silly," he said, forcing a smile.

"You want to laugh so that I won't break down," I replied. "If I can't cry when I'm with you, when can I cry? But.... Oh ... oh, Mattia, Mattia!"

Throwing my arms around dear old Mattia's neck, I burst into tears. Never had I felt so miserable. When I had been alone in this great world, never had I felt so unhappy as I did at this moment. After my burst of sobs I forced myself to be calm. It was not because I wanted Mattia's pity that I had brought him to this garden, it was not for myself; it was for him.

"Mattia," I said resolutely, "you must go back to France."

"Leave you? Never!"

"I knew beforehand what you would reply and I am pleased, oh, so pleased that you wish to be with me, but, Mattia, you must go back to France at once!"

"Why? Tell me that."

"Because.... Tell me, Mattia. Don't be afraid. Did you sleep last night? Did you see?"

"I did not sleep," he answered.

"And you saw...?"

"All."

"And you understood?"

"That those goods had not been paid for. Your father was angry with the men because they knocked at the stable door and not at the house door. They told him that the police were watching them."

"You see very well, then, that you must go," I said.

"If I must go, you must go also; it is no better for one than for the other."

"If you had met Garofoli in Paris and he had forced you to go back to him, I am sure you would not have wanted me to stay with you. I am simply doing what you would do yourself."

He did not reply.

"You must go back to France," I insisted; "go to Lise and tell her that I cannot do for her father what I promised. I told her that the first thing I did would be to pay off his debts. You must tell her how it is, and go to Mother Barberin also. Simply say that my people are not rich as I had thought; there is no disgrace in not having money. But don't tell them anything more."

"It is not because they are poor that you want me to go, so I shan't go," Mattia replied obstinately. "I know what it is, after what we saw last night; you are afraid for me."

"Mattia, don't say that!"

"You are afraid one day that I shall cut the tickets off goods that have not been paid for."

"Mattia, Mattia, don't!"

"Well, if you are afraid for me, I am afraid for you. Let us both go."

"It's impossible; my parents are nothing to you, but this is my father and mother, and I must stay with them. It is my family."

"Your family! That man who steals, your father! That drunken woman your mother!"

"Don't you dare say so, Mattia," I cried, springing up from my seat; "you are speaking of my father and mother and I must respect them and love them."

"Yes, so you should if they are your people, but ... are they?"

"You forget their many proofs."

"You don't resemble your father or your mother. Their children are all fair, while you are dark. And then how is it they could spend so much money to find a child? Put all these things together and in my opinion you are not a Driscoll. You might write to Mother Barberin and ask her to tell you just what the clothes were like that you wore when you were found. Then ask that man you call your father to describe the clothes his baby had on when it was stolen. Until then I shan't move."

"But suppose one day Mattia gets a bang on his poor head?"

"That would not be so hard if he received the blow for a friend," he said, smiling.

We did not return to the Red Lion Court until night. My father and mother passed no remark upon our absence. After supper my father drew two chairs to the fireside, which brought a growl from my grandfather, and then asked us to tell him how we had made enough money to live on in France. I told the story.

"Not only did we earn enough to live on, but we got enough to buy a cow," said Mattia with assurance. In his turn he told how we came by the cow.

"You must be clever kids," said my father; "show us what you can do."

I took my harp and played a piece, but not my Neapolitan song. Mattia played a piece on his violin and a piece on his cornet. It was the cornet solo that brought the greatest applause from the children who had gathered round us in a circle.

"And Capi, can he do anything?" asked my father. "He ought to be able to earn his food."

I was very proud of Capi's talents. I put him through all his tricks and as usual he scored a great success.

"Why, that dog is worth a fortune," exclaimed my father.

I was very pleased at this praise and assured him that Capi could learn anything that one wished to teach him. My father translated what I said into English, and it seemed to me that he added something more which made everybody laugh, for the old grandfather winked his eye several times and said, "Fine dog!"

"This is what I suggest," said my father, "that is if Mattia would like to live with us?"

"I want to stay with Remi," replied Mattia.

"Well, this is what I propose," continued my father. "We're not rich and we all work. In the summer we travel through the country and the children go and sell the goods to those who won't take the trouble to come to us, but in the winter we haven't much to do. Now you and Remi can go and play music in the streets. You'll make quite a little money as Christmas draws near, but Ned and Allen must take Capi with them and he'll make the people laugh with his tricks; in that way the talent will be distributed."

"Capi won't work well with any one but me," I said quickly. I could not bear to be parted from my dog.

"He'll learn to work with Allen and Ned easy," said my father; "we'll get more money this way."

"Oh, but we'll get ever so much more with Capi," I insisted.

"That's enough," replied my father briefly; "when I say a thing I mean it. No arguments."

I said nothing more. As I laid down in my bed that night Mattia whispered in my ear: "Now to-morrow you write to Mother Barberin." Then he jumped into bed.

But the next morning I had to give Capi his lesson, I took him in my arms and while I gently kissed him on his cold nose, I explained to him what he had to do; poor doggy! how he looked at me, how he listened! I then put his leash in Allen's hand and he followed the two boys obediently, but with a forlorn air.

My father took Mattia and me across London where there were beautiful houses, splendid streets with wide pavements, and carriages that shone like glass, drawn by magnificent horses and driven by big fat coachmen with powdered wigs. It was late when we got back to Red Lion Court, for the distance from the West End to Bethnal-Green is great. How pleased I was to see Capi again. He was covered with mud, but in a good humor. I was so pleased to see him, that after I had rubbed him well down with dry straw, I wrapped him in my sheepskin and made him sleep in my bed.

Things went on this way for several days. Mattia and I went one way and Capi, Ned, and Allen another. Then one evening my father told me that we could take Capi the next day with us, as he wanted the two boys to do something in the house. Mattia and I were very pleased and we intended to do our utmost to bring back a good sum of money so that he would let us have the dog always. We had to get Capi back and we would not spare ourselves, neither one of us. We made Capi undergo a severe washing and combing early in the morning, then we went off.

Unfortunately for our plan a heavy fog had been hanging over London for two entire days. It was so dense that we could only see a few steps before us, and those who listened to us playing behind these fog curtains could not see Capi. It was a most annoying state of affairs for our "takings." Little did we think how indebted we should be to the fog a few minutes later. We were walking through one of the most popular streets when suddenly I discovered that Capi was not with us. This was extraordinary, for he always kept close at our heels. I waited for him to catch up with us. I stood at the entrance of a dark alley and whistled softly, for we could see but a short distance. I was beginning to fear that he had been stolen from us when he came up on the run, holding a pair of woolen stockings between his teeth. Placing his fore paws against me he presented them to me with a bark. He seemed as proud as when he had accomplished one of his most difficult tricks and wanted my approval. It was all done in a few seconds. I stood dumbfounded. Then Mattia seized the stockings with one hand and pulled me down the alley with the other.

"Walk quick, but don't run," he whispered.

He told me a moment later that a man who had hurried past him on the pavement was saying, "Where's that thief? I'll get him!" We went out by the other end of the alley.

"If it had not been for the fog we should have been arrested as thieves," said Mattia.

For a moment I stood almost choking. They had made a thief of my good honest Capi!

"Hold him tight," I said, "and come back to the house."

We walked quickly.

The father and mother were seated at the table folding up material. I threw the pair of stockings down. Allen and Ned laughed.

"Here's a pair of stockings," I said; "you've made a thief of my dog. I thought you took him out to amuse people."

I was trembling so I could scarcely speak, and yet I never felt more determined.

"And if it was not for amusement," demanded my father, "what would you do, I'd like to know?"

"I'd tie a cord round Capi's neck, and although I love him dearly, I'd drown him. I don't want Capi to become a thief any more than I want to be one myself, and if I thought that I ever should become a thief, I'd drown myself at once with my dog."

My father looked me full in the face. I thought he was going to strike me. His eyes gleamed. I did not flinch.

"Oh, very well, then," said he, recovering himself; "so that it shall not happen again, you may take Capi out with you in the future."

I showed my fist to the two boys. I could not speak to them, but they saw by my manner that if they dared have anything more to do with my dog, they would have me to reckon with. I was willing to fight them both to protect Capi.

From that day every one in my family openly showed their dislike for me. My grandfather continued to spit angrily when I approached him. The boys and my eldest sister played every trick they possibly could upon me. My father and mother ignored me, only demanding of me my money every evening. Out of the whole family, for whom I had felt so much affection when I had landed in England, there was only baby Kate who would let me fondle her, and she turned from me coldly if I had not candy or an orange in my pocket for her.

Although I would not listen to what Mattia had said at first, gradually, little by little, I began to wonder if I did really belong to this family. I had done nothing for them to be so unkind to me. Mattia, seeing me so greatly worried, would say as though to himself: "I am just wondering what kind of clothes Mother Barberin will tell us you wore...."

At last the letter came. The priest had written it for her. It read:

"My little Remi: I was surprised and sorry to learn the contents of your letter. From what Barberin told me and also from the clothes you had on when you were found, I thought that you belonged to a very rich family. I can easily tell you what you wore, for I have kept everything. You were not wound up in wrappings like a French baby; you wore long robes and underskirts like little English babies. You had on a white flannel robe and over that a very fine linen robe, then a big white cashmere pelisse lined with white silk and trimmed with beautiful white embroidery, and you had a lovely lace bonnet, and then white woolen socks with little silk rosettes. None of these things were marked, but the little flannel jacket you had next to your skin and the flannel robe had both been marked, but the marks had been carefully cut out. There, Remi, boy, that is all I can tell you. Don't worry, dear child, that you can't give us all the fine presents that you promised. Your cow that you bought with your savings is worth all the presents in the world to me. I am pleased to tell you that she's in good health and gives the same fine quantity of milk, so I am very comfortably off now, and I never look at her without thinking of you and your little friend Mattia. Let me have news of you sometimes, dear boy, you are so tender and affectionate, and I hope, now you have found your family, they will all love you as you deserve to be loved. I kiss you lovingly. "Your foster mother, "WIDOW BARBERIN."

Dear Mother Barberin! she imagined that everybody must love me because she did!

"She's a fine woman," said Mattia; "very fine, she thought of me! Now let's see what Mr. Driscoll has to say."

"He might have forgotten the things."

"Does one forget the clothes that their child wears when it was kidnaped? Why, it's only through its clothes that they can find it."

"Wait until we hear what he says before we think anything."

It was not an easy thing for me to ask my father how I was dressed on the day that I was stolen. If I had put the question casually without any underthought, it would have been simple enough. As it was I was timid. Then one day when the cold sleet had driven me home earlier than usual, I took my courage in both hands, and broached the subject that was causing me so much anxiety. At my question my father looked me full in the face. But I looked back at him far more boldly than I imagined that I could at this moment. Then he smiled. There was something hard and cruel in the smile but still it was a smile.

"On the day that you were stolen from us," he said slowly, "you wore a flannel robe, a linen robe, a lace bonnet, white woolen shoes, and a white embroidered cashmere pelisse. Two of your garments Were marked F.D., Francis Driscoll, your real name, but this mark was cut out by the woman who stole you, for she hoped that in this way you would never be found. I'll show you your baptismal certificates which, of course, I still have."

He searched in a drawer and soon brought forth a big paper which he handed to me.

"If you don't mind," I said with a last effort, "Mattia will translate it for me."

"Certainly."

Mattia translated it as well as he could. It appeared that I was born on Thursday, August the 2nd, and that I was the son of John Driscoll and Margaret Grange, his wife.

What further proofs could I ask?

"That's all very fine," said Mattia that night, when we were in our caravan, "but how comes it that peddlers were rich enough to give their children lace bonnets and embroidered pelisses? Peddlers are not so rich as that!"

"It is because they were peddlers that they could get those things cheaper."

Mattia whistled, but he shook his head, then again he whispered: "You're not that Driscoll's baby, but you're the baby that Driscoll stole!"

I was about to reply but he had already climbed up into his bed.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

If I had been in Mattia's place, I should perhaps have had as much imagination as he, but I felt in my position that it was wrong for me to have such thoughts. It had been proved beyond a doubt that Mr. Driscoll was my father. I could not look at the matter from the same point of view as Mattia. He might doubt ... but I must not. When he tried to make me believe as he did, I told him to be silent. But he was pig-headed and I was not always able to get the better of his obstinacy.

"Why are you dark and all the rest of the family fair?" he would ask repeatedly.

"How was it that poor people could dress their baby in fine laces and embroidery?" was another often repeated question. And I could only reply by putting a question myself.

"Why did they search for me if I was not their child? Why had they given money to Barberin and to Greth and Galley?"

Mattia could find no answer to my question and yet he would not be convinced.

"I think we should both go back to France," he urged.

"That's impossible."

"Because it's your duty to keep with your family, eh? But is it your family?"

These discussions only had one result, they made me more unhappy than I had ever been. How terrible it is to doubt. Yet, in spite of my wish not to doubt, I doubted. Who would have thought when I was crying so sadly because I thought I had no family that I should be in such despair now that I had one. How could I know the truth? In the meantime I had to sing and dance and laugh and make grimaces when my heart was full.

One Sunday my father told me to stay in the house because he wanted me. He sent Mattia off alone. All the others had gone out; my grandfather alone was upstairs. I had been with my father for about an hour when there was a knock at the door. A gentleman, who was unlike any of the men who usually called on my father, came in. He was about fifty years old and dressed in the height of fashion. He had white pointed teeth like a dog and when he smiled he drew his lips back over them as though he was going to bite. He spoke to my father in English, turning continually to look at me. Then he began to talk French; he spoke this language with scarcely an accent.

"This is the young boy that you spoke to me about?" he said. "He appears very well."

"Answer the gentleman," said my father to me.

"Yes, I am quite well," I replied, surprised.

"You have never been ill?"

"I had pneumonia once."

"Ah, when was that?"

"Three years ago. I slept out in the cold all night. My master, who was with me, was frozen to death, and I got pneumonia."

"Haven't you felt any effects of this illness since?"

"No."

"No fatigue, no perspiration at night?"

"No. When I'm tired it's because I have walked a lot, but I don't get ill."

He came over to me and felt my arms, then put his head on my heart, then at my back and on my chest, telling me to take deep breaths. He also told me to cough. That done he looked at me for a long time. It was then that I thought he wanted to bite me, his teeth gleamed in such a terrible smile. A few moments later he left the house with my father.

What did it mean? Did he want to take me in his employ? I should have to leave Mattia and Capi. No, I wouldn't be a servant to anybody, much less this man whom I disliked already.

My father returned and told me I could go out if I wished. I went into the caravan. What was my surprise to find Mattia there. He put his finger to his lips.

"Go and open the stable door," he whispered, "I'll go out softly behind you. They mustn't know that I was here."

I was mystified but I did as he asked.

"Do you know who that man was who was with your father?" he asked excitedly when we were in the street. "It was Mr. James Milligan, your friend's uncle."

I stood staring at him in the middle of the pavement. He took me by the arm and dragged me on.

"I was not going out all alone," he continued, "so I went in there to sleep, but I didn't sleep. Your father and a gentleman came into the stable and I heard all they said; at first I didn't try to listen but afterward I did.

"'Solid as a rock,' said the gentleman; 'nine out of ten would have died, but he pulled through with pneumonia.'

"'How is your nephew?' asked your father.

"'Better. Three months ago the doctors again gave him up, but his mother saved him once more. Oh, she's a marvelous mother, is Mrs. Milligan.'

"You can imagine when I heard this name if I did not glue my ears to the window.

"'Then if your nephew is better,' continued your father, 'all you've done is useless.'

"'For the moment, perhaps,' replied the other, 'but I don't say that Arthur is going to live; it would be a miracle if he did, and I am not afraid of miracles. The day he dies the only heir to that estate will be myself.'

"'Don't worry; I'll see to that,' said Driscoll.

"'Yes, I count on you,' replied Mr. Milligan."

My first thought was to question my father, but it was not wise to let them know that they had been overheard. As Mr. Milligan had business with my father he would probably come to the house again, and the next time, Mattia, whom he did not know, could follow him.

A few days later Mattia met a friend of his, Bob, the Englishman, whom he had known at the Gassot Circus. I could see by the way he greeted Mattia that he was very fond of him. He at once took a liking to Capi and myself. From that day we had a strong friend, who, by his experience and advice, was of great help to us in time of trouble.



CHAPTER XXIX

IN PRISON

Spring came slowly, but at last the day arrived for the family to leave London. The caravans had been repainted and were loaded with merchandise. There were materials, hats, shawls, handkerchiefs, sweaters, underwear, ear-rings, razors, soap, powders, cream, everything that one could imagine.

The caravans were full. The horses bought. Where, and how? I did not know but we saw them come and everything was then ready for the departure. We did not know if we were to stay with the old grandfather or go with the family, but my father, finding that we made good money playing, told us the night before that we should go on the road with him and play our music.

"Let us go back to France," urged Mattia; "here's a good chance now."

"Why not travel through England?"

"Because I tell you something's going to happen if we stay here, and besides we might find Mrs. Milligan and Arthur in France. If he has been ill she will be sure to take him on their barge, now the summer is coming."

I told him that I must stay.

The same day we started. I saw in the afternoon how they sold the things that cost so little. We arrived at a large village and the caravans were drawn up on the public square. One of the sides was lowered and the goods displayed temptingly for the purchasers to inspect.

"Look at the price! Look at the price!" cried my father. "You couldn't find anything like this elsewhere for the price! I don't sell 'em; I'm giving 'em away. Look at this!"

"He must have stolen them," I heard the people say when they saw the prices. If they had glanced at my shamed looks, they would have known that they were right in their suppositions.

If they did not notice me, Mattia did. "How much longer can you bear this?" he asked.

I was silent.

"Let us go back to France," he urged again. "I feel that something is going to happen, and going to happen soon. Don't you think sooner or later the police will get on to Driscoll, seeing how cheap he's selling the things? Then what'll happen?"

"Oh, Mattia...."

"If you will keep your eyes shut I must keep mine open. We shall both be arrested and we haven't done anything, but how can we prove that? Aren't we eating the food that is paid for by the money that he gets for these things?"

I had never thought of that; it struck me now like a blow in the face.

"But we earn our food," I stammered, trying to defend ourselves.

"That's true, but we're living with thieves," replied Mattia, speaking more frankly than he had ever done before, "and then if we're sent to prison, we can't look for your family. And I'm anxious to see Mrs. Milligan to warn her against that James Milligan. You don't know what he might not do to Arthur. Let us go while we can."

"Let me have a few more days to think it over, Mattia," I said.

"Hurry up, then. Jack the Giant Killer smelled flesh—I smell danger."

Circumstances did for me what I was afraid to do. Several weeks had passed since we left London. My father had set up his caravans in a town where the races were about to be held. As Mattia and I had nothing to do with selling the goods, we went to see the race-course, which was at some distance from the town. Outside the English race-courses there is usually a fair going on. Mountebanks of all descriptions, musicians, and stall holders gather there two or three days in advance.

We were passing by a camp fire over which a kettle was hanging when we recognized our friend Bob, who had been with Mattia in the circus. He was delighted to see us again. He had come to the races with two friends and was going to give an exhibition of strength. He had engaged some musicians but they had failed him at the last moment and he was afraid that the performance the next day would be a failure. He had to have musicians to attract a crowd. Would we help him out? The profits would be divided between the five of us that made up the company. There would even be something for Capi, for he would like to have Capi perform his tricks in the intervals. We agreed and promised to be there the next day at the time he mentioned.

When I told of this arrangement to my father he said that he wanted Capi and that we could not have him. I wondered if they were going to make my dog do some dirty trick. From my look my father guessed my thoughts.

"Oh, it's all right," he said; "Capi's a good watch dog; he must stand by the caravans. In a crowd like we shall have we might easily be robbed. You two go alone and play with your friend Bob, and if you are not finished until late, which will be quite likely, you can join us at the Old Oak Tavern. We shall go on our way again to-morrow."

We had spent the night before at the Old Oak Tavern, which was a mile out on a lonely road. The place was kept by a couple whose appearance did not inspire one with confidence. It was quite easy to find this place. It was on a straight road. The only annoying thing was that it was a long walk for us after a tiring day.

But when my father said a thing I had to obey. I promised to be at the Tavern. The next day, after tying Capi to the caravan, where he was to be on guard, I hurried off to the race-course with Mattia.

We began to play as soon as we arrived and kept it up until night. My fingers ached as though they had been pricked with a thousand pins and poor Mattia had blown his cornet so long that he could scarcely breathe. It was past midnight. Just as they were doing their last turn a big bar of iron which they were using in their feats fell on Mattia's foot. I thought that his foot was broken. Fortunately it was only severely bruised. No bones were broken, but still he could not walk.

It was decided that he should stay there that night with Bob and that I should go on alone to the Old Oak Tavern, for I had to know where the Driscoll family was going the next day. All was dark when I reached the tavern. I looked round for the caravans. They were nowhere to be seen. All I could see, beside one or two miserable wagons, was a big cage from which, as I drew near, came the cry of a wild beast. The beautiful gaudy colored caravans belonging to the Driscoll family were gone.

I knocked at the tavern door. The landlord opened it and turned the light from his lantern full on my face. He recognised me, but instead of letting me go in he told me to hurry after my parents, who had gone to Lewes, and said that I'd better not lose any time joining them. Then he shut the door in my face.

Since I had been in England I had learned to speak English fairly well. I understood clearly what he said, but I had not the slightest idea where Lewes was situated, and besides I could not go, even if I found out the direction, and leave Mattia behind. I began my weary tramp back to the race-course; an hour later I was sleeping beside Mattia in Bob's wagon.

The next morning Bob told me how to get to Lewes and I was ready to start. I was watching him boil the water for breakfast when I looked up from the fire and saw Capi being led towards us by a policeman. What did it mean? The moment Capi recognized me he gave a tug at his leash and escaping from the officer bounded toward me and jumped into my arms.

"Is that your dog?" asked the policeman.

"Yes."

"Then come with me, you're under arrest."

He seized me by the collar.

"What do you mean by arresting him?" cried Bob, jumping up from the fire.

"Are you his brother?"

"No, his friend."

"Well, a man and a boy robbed St. George's Church last night. They got up a ladder and went through the window. This dog was there to give the alarm. They were surprised in the act and in their hurry to get out by the window, the dog was left in the church. I knew that with the dog I'd be sure to find the thieves; here's one, now where's his father?"

I could not utter a word. Mattia, who had heard the talk, came out of the caravan and limped over to me. Bob was telling the policeman that I could not be guilty because I had stayed with him until one o'clock, then I went to the Old Oak Tavern and spoke to the landlord there, and came back here at once.

"It was a quarter after one that the church was entered," said the officer, "and this boy left here at one o'clock so he could have met the other and got to the church."

"It takes more than a quarter of an hour to go from here to the town," said Bob.

"On the run, no," replied the policeman, "and what proves that he left here at one o'clock?"

"I can prove it; I swear it," cried Bob.

The policeman shrugged his shoulders. "This boy can explain to the magistrate," he said.

As I was being led away, Mattia threw his arms about my neck, as though it was because he wanted to embrace me, but Mattia had another object.

"Keep up your courage," he whispered, "we won't forsake you."

"Take care of Capi," I said in French, but the officer understood.

"Oh, no," he said; "I'll keep that dog. He helped me to find you; he may help me to find the other."

Handcuffed to the policeman I had to pass under the gaze of a crowd of people, but they did not jeer me like the peasants in France had done at my first arrest; these people, almost all of them, were antagonistic to the police; they were gypsies, tramps, in fact, the Bohemian vagabond.

There were no onions strewn over this prison where I was now locked up. This was a real jail with iron bars at the windows, the sight of which put all thought of escape from my mind. In the cell there was only a bench and a hammock. I dropped onto the bench and remained for a long time with my head buried in my hands. Mattia and Bob, even with the help of other friends, could never get me away from here. I got up and went over to the window; the bars were strong and close together. The walls were three feet thick. The ground beneath was paved with large stones. The door was covered with a plate of sheet iron.... No, I could not escape.

I began to wonder if it would be possible for me to prove my innocence, despite Capi's presence in the church. Mattia and Bob could help me by proving an alibi. If they could prove this I was saved in spite of the mute testimony that my poor dog had carried against me. I asked the jailer when he brought in some food if it would be long before I should appear before the magistrate. I did not know then that in England you are taken into court the day after arrest. The jailer, who seemed a kindly sort of man, told me that it would certainly be the next day.

I had heard tales of prisoners finding messages from their friends in the food that was brought in to them. I could not touch my food, but I at once began to crumble my bread. I found nothing inside. There were some potatoes also; I mashed them to a pulp, but I found not the tiniest note. I did not sleep that night.

The next morning the jailer came into my cell carrying a jug of water and a basin. He told me to wash myself if I wished to, for I was to appear before the judge, and a good appearance never went against one. When the jailer returned he told me to follow him. We went down several passages, then came to a small door which he opened.

"Pass in," he said.

The room I entered was very close. I heard a confused murmur of voices. Although my temples were throbbing and I could scarcely stand, I was able to take in my surroundings. The room was of fair size with large windows and high ceiling. The judge was seated on a raised platform. Beneath him in front sat three other court officials. Near where I stood was a gentleman wearing a robe and wig. I was surprised to find that this was my lawyer. How was it I had an attorney? Where did he come from?

Amongst the witnesses, I saw Bob and his two friends, the landlord of the Old Oak Tavern, and some men whom I did not know. Then on another stand opposite, amongst several other persons, I saw the policeman who had arrested me. The public prosecutor in a few words stated the crime. A robbery had been committed in St. George's Church. The thieves, a man and a child, had climbed up a ladder and broken a window to get in. They had with them a dog to give the alarm. At a quarter after one, a late pedestrian had seen a light in the church and had at once aroused the sexton. Several men ran to the church; the dog barked and the thieves escaped through the window, leaving the dog behind them. The dog's intelligence was remarkable. The next morning the animal had led the policeman to the race-course where he had recognized his master, who was none other than the accused now standing in the prisoner's dock. As to the second thief, they were on his trail, and they hoped to arrest him shortly.

There was little to be said for me; my friends tried to prove an alibi, but the prosecutor said that I had ample time to meet my accomplice at the church and then run to the Old Oak Tavern after. I was asked then how I could account for my dog being in the church at quarter after one. I replied that I could not say, for the dog had not been with me all day. But I declared that I was innocent. My attorney tried to prove that my dog had wandered into the church during the day and had been locked in when the sexton closed the door. He did his best for me, but the defense was weak. Then the judge said that I should be taken to the county jail to wait for the Grand Jury to decide if I should, or should not, be held for the assizes.

The assizes!

I fell back on my bench. Oh, why had I not listened to Mattia.



CHAPTER XXX

ESCAPE

I had not been acquitted because the judge was expecting the arrest of the man who had entered the church with the child. They would then know if I was this man's accomplice. They were on the trail, the prosecutor had said, so I should have the shame and sorrow of appearing in the prisoner's dock at the Assizes beside him.

That evening, just before dusk, I heard the clear notes of a cornet. Mattia was there! Dear old Mattia! he wanted to tell me that he was near and thinking of me. He was evidently in the street on the other side of the wall opposite my window. I heard footsteps and the murmur of a crowd. Mattia and Bob were probably giving a performance.

Suddenly I heard a clear voice call out in French, "To-morrow at daybreak!" Then at once Mattia played his loudest on the cornet.

It did not need any degree of intelligence to understand that Mattia had not addressed these French words to an English public. I was not sure what they meant, but evidently I had to be on the alert at daybreak the next morning. As soon as it was dark I got into my hammock, but it was some time before I could go to sleep, although I was very tired. At last I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke it was night. The stars shone in the dark sky and silence reigned everywhere. A clock struck three. I counted the hours and the quarter hours. Leaning against the wall I kept my eyes fixed on the window. I watched the stars go out one by one. In the distance I could hear the cocks crowing. It was daybreak.

I opened the window very softly. What did I expect? There were still the iron bars and the high wall opposite. I could not get out, and yet foolish though the thought was, I expected my freedom. The morning air chilled me but I stayed by my window, looking out without knowing at what, listening without knowing to what. A big white cloud came up in the sky. It was daybreak. My heart throbbed wildly. Then I seemed to hear a scratching on the wall, but I had heard no sound of footsteps. I listened. The scratching continued. I saw a head appear above the wall. In the dim light I recognized Bob.

He saw me with my face pressed against the bars.

"Silence!" he said softly.

He made a sign for me to move away from the window. Wondering, I obeyed. He put a peashooter to his mouth and blew. A tiny ball came through the air and fell at my feet. Bob's head disappeared.

I pounced on the ball. It was tissue paper made into a tiny ball like a pea. The light was too dim for me to see what was written on it; I had to wait till day. I closed my window cautiously and lay down again in my hammock with the tiny bit of paper in my hand. How slowly the light came! At last I was able to read what was written on the paper. I read:

"To-morrow you will be taken in the train to the county jail. A policeman will be in the compartment with you. Keep near the same door by which you enter. At the end of forty minutes (count them carefully), the train will slacken speed as it nears a junction; then open the door and jump out. Climb the small hill on the left. We'll be there. Keep your courage up; above all, jump well forward and fall on your feet."

Saved! I should not appear before the Assizes! Good Mattia, dear old Bob! How good of Bob to help Mattia, for Mattia, poor little fellow, could not have done this alone.

I re-read the note. Forty minutes after the train starts.... Hill to the left.... It was a risky thing to do to jump from a train, but even if I killed myself in doing so, I would better do it. Better die than be condemned as a thief.

Would they think of Capi?

After I had again read my note, I chewed it into a pulp.

The next day, in the afternoon, a policeman came into my cell and told me to follow him. He was a man over fifty and I thought with satisfaction that he did not appear to be very nimble.

Things turned out just as Bob had said. The train rolled off. I took my place near the door where I had entered. The policeman sat opposite me; we were alone in the compartment.

"Do you speak English?" asked the policeman.

"I understand if you don't talk too rapidly," I replied.

"Well, then, I want to give you a little advice, my boy," he said; "don't try and fool the law. Just tell me how it all happened, and I'll give you five shillings. It'll be easier for you if you have a little money in jail."

I was about to say that I had nothing to confess, but I felt that might annoy the man, so I said nothing.

"Just think it over," he continued, "and when you're in jail don't go and tell the first comer, but send for me. It is better to have one who is interested in you, and I'm very willing to help you."

I nodded my head.

"Ask for Dolphin; you'll remember my name?"

"Yes, sir."

I was leaning against the door. The window was down and the air blew in. The policeman found that there was too much air so he moved into the middle of the seat. My left hand stole softly outside and turned the handle; with my right hand I held the door.

The minutes passed; the engine whistled and slackened its speed. The moment had come. I pushed open the door quickly and sprang out as far as I could. Fortunately, my hands, which I held out before me, touched the grass, yet the shock was so great that I rolled on the ground unconscious. When I came to my senses I thought that I was still in the train for I felt myself being carried along. Looking round I saw that I was lying at the bottom of a cart. Strange! My cheeks were wet. A soft warm tongue was licking me. I turned slightly. An ugly yellow dog was leaning over me. Mattia was kneeling beside me.

"You're saved," he said, pushing aside the dog.

"Where am I?"

"You are in a cart. Bob's driving."

"How goes it?" cried Bob from his seat. "Can you move your arms and legs?"

I stretched out and did what he asked.

"Good," said Mattia; "nothing broken."

"What happened?"

"You jumped from the train as we told you, but the shock stunned you, and you rolled into a ditch. When you didn't come, Bob left the cart, crept down the hill, and carried you back in his arms. We thought you were dead. Oh, Remi, I was afraid."

I stroked his hand. "And the policeman?" I asked.

"The train went on; it didn't stop."

My eyes again fell on the ugly yellow dog that was looking at me with eyes that resembled Capi's. But Capi was white....

"What dog is that?" I asked.

Before Mattia could reply the ugly little animal had jumped on me, licking me furiously and whining.

"It's Capi; we dyed him!" cried Mattia, laughing.

"Dyed him? Why?"

"So that he wouldn't be recognized. Now Bob wants to make you more comfortable."

While Bob and Mattia were making me comfortable I asked them where we were going.

"To Little Hampton," said Mattia, "where Bob's brother has a boat that goes over to France to fetch butter and eggs from Normandy. We owe everything to Bob. What could a poor little wretch like me have done alone? It was Bob's idea that you jump from the train."

"And Capi? Who's idea was it to get him?"

"Mine. But it was Bob's to paint him yellow so that he wouldn't be recognized after we stole him from Policeman Jerry. The judge called Jerry 'intelligent'; he wasn't so very intelligent to let us get Capi away. True, Capi smelled me and almost got off alone. Bob knows the tricks of dog thieves."

"And your foot?"

"Better, or almost better. I haven't had time to think of it."

Night was falling. We had still a long distance to go.

"Are you afraid?" asked Mattia, as I lay there in silence.

"No, not afraid," I answered, "for I don't think that I shall be caught. But it seems to me that in running away I admit my guilt. That worries me."

"Better anything, Bob and I thought, than that you should appear at the Assizes. Even if you got off it's a bad thing to have gone through."

Convinced that after the train stopped the policeman would lose no time looking for me, we went ahead as quickly as possible. The villages through which we drove were very quiet; lights were seen in only a few of the windows. Mattia and I got under a cover. For some time a cold wind had been blowing and when we passed our tongues over our lips we tasted salt. We were nearing the sea. Soon we saw a light flashing every now and again. It was a lighthouse. Suddenly Bob stopped his horse, and jumping down from the cart, told us to wait there. He was going to see his brother to ask him if it would be safe for him to take us on his boat.

Bob seemed to be away a very long time. We did not speak. We could hear the waves breaking on the shore at a short distance. Mattia was trembling and I also.

"It is cold," he whispered.

Was it the cold that made us shake? When a cow or a sheep in the field at the side touched against the fence we trembled still more. There were footsteps on the road. Bob was returning. My fate had been decided. A rough-looking sailor wearing a sou'wester and an oilskin hat was with Bob.

"This is my brother," said Bob; "he'll take you on his boat. So we'll have to part now; no one need know that I brought you here."

I wanted to thank Bob but he cut me short. I grasped his hand.

"Don't speak of it," he said lightly, "you two boys helped me out the other night. One good turn deserves another. And I'm pleased to have been able to help a friend of Mattia's."

We followed Bob's brother down some winding quiet streets till we came to the docks. He pointed to a boat, without saying a word. In a few moments we were on board. He told us to go down below into a little cabin.

"I start in two hours' time," he said; "stay there and don't make a sound."

But we were not trembling now. We sat in the dark side by side.



CHAPTER XXXI

HUNTING FOR THE SWAN

For some time after Bob's brother left we heard only the noise of the wind and the sea dashing against the keel, then footsteps were heard on the deck above and the grinding of pulleys. A sail was hoisted, then suddenly the boat leaned to one side and began to rock. In a few moments it was pitching heavily on the rough sea.

"Poor Mattia," I said, taking his hand.

"I don't care, we're saved," he said; "what if I am seasick?"

The next day I passed my time between the cabin and deck. Mattia wanted to be left alone. When at last the skipper pointed out Harfleur I hurried down to the cabin to tell him the good news. As it was late in the afternoon when we arrived at Harfleur, Bob's brother told us that we could sleep on the boat that night if we wished.

"When you want to go back to England," he said the next morning, as we wished him good-by, and thanked him for what he had done for us, "just remember that the Eclipse sails from here every Tuesday."

It was a kind invitation, but Mattia and I each of us had our reason for not wishing to cross the sea again ... yet awhile.

Fortunately we had our profits from Bob's performance. In all we had twenty-seven francs and fifty centimes. Mattia wanted to give Bob the twenty-seven francs in payment for the expenses he had been put to for my flight, but he would not accept a penny.

"Well, which way shall we go?" I asked when we landed in France.

"By the canal," replied Mattia promptly, "because I have an idea. I believe the Swan is on the canal this summer, now that Arthur's been so ill, and I think we ought to find it," he added.

"But what about Lise and the others?" I asked.

"We'll see them while we're looking for Mrs. Milligan. As we go up the canal, we can stop and see Lise."

With a map that we bought, we searched for the nearest river: it was the Seine.

"We'll go up the Seine and ask all the fishermen along the banks if they've seen the Swan. It isn't like any other boat from what you say, and if they've seen it they'll remember."

Before beginning the long journey that was probably ahead of us I bought some soft soap to clean Capi. To me, Capi yellow—was not Capi. We washed him thoroughly, each one taking it in turns until he was tired out. But Bob's dye was an excellent quality and when we had finished he was still yellow, but a shade paler. It would require many shampoos before we could get him back to his original color. Fortunately Normandy is a country of brooks and each day we gave him a bath.

We reached the top of a hill one morning and Mattia spied the Seine away ahead of us, winding in a large curve. From then on, we began to question the people. Had they seen the Swan, a beautiful barge with a veranda? No one had seen it. It must have passed in the night. We went on to Rouen, where again we commenced our questions, but with no better result. We would not be discouraged but went forward questioning every one. We had to stop to get money for our food as we went along, so it took us five weeks to reach the suburbs of Paris.

Fortunately, upon arriving at Charenton, we soon knew which direction we had to take. When we put the important question, we received for the first time the answer for which we had longed. A boat which resembled the Swan, a large pleasure boat, had passed that way; turning to the left, it had continued up the Seine.

We were by the docks. Mattia was so overjoyed that he commenced to dance amongst the fishermen. Stopping suddenly he took his violin and frantically played a triumphal march. While he played I questioned the man who had seen the barge. Without a doubt it was the Swan. It had passed through Charenton about two months ago.

Two months! What a lead it had! But what did that matter! We had our legs and they had the legs of two good horses and we should join them some day. The question of time did not count. The great thing, the wonderful thing was that the Swan was found!

"Who was right?" cried Mattia.

If I had dared I would have admitted to Mattia that I had very great hopes, but I felt that I could not analyze my thoughts, not even to myself. We had no need to stop now and question the people. The Swan was ahead of us. We had only to follow the Seine. We went on our way, getting nearer to where Lise lived. I wondered if she had seen the barge as it passed through the locks by her home. At night we never complained of weariness and we were always ready the next morning to set out at an early hour.

"Wake me up," said Mattia, who was fond of sleeping. And when I woke him he was never long in jumping to his feet.

To economize we ate hard-boiled eggs, which we bought from the grocers, and bread. Yet Mattia was very fond of good things.

"I hope Mrs. Milligan has that cook still who made those tarts," he said; "apricot tarts must be fine!"

"Haven't you ever tasted them?"

"I've tasted apple puffs, but I've never tasted apricot tarts. I've seen them. What are those little white things they stick all over the fruit?"

"Almonds."

"Oh...." And Mattia opened his mouth as though he were swallowing a whole tart.

At each lock we had news of the Swan; every one had seen the beautiful barge and they spoke of the kind English lady and the little boy lying on a sofa under the veranda.

We drew nearer to Lise's home, two more days, then one, then only a few hours. We came in sight of the house. We were not walking now, we were running. Capi, who seemed to know where we were going, started ahead at a gallop. He was going to let Lise know that we were coming. She would come to meet us. But when we got to the house there was a woman standing at the door whom we did not know.

"Where's Madame Suriot?" we inquired.

For a moment she stared at us as though we were asking a foolish question.

"She doesn't live here now," she said at last; "she's in Egypt."

"In Egypt!"

Mattia and I looked at one another in amazement. Egypt! We did not know just where Egypt was situated, but we thought, vaguely, it was far away, very far, somewhere beyond the seas.

"And Lise? Do you know Lise?"

"The little dumb girl? Yes, I know her! She went off with an English lady on a barge."

Lise on the Swan! Were we dreaming? Mattia and I stared at one another.

"Are you Remi?" then asked the woman.

"Yes."

"Well, Suriot was drowned...."

"Drowned!"

"Yes, he fell into the lock and got caught below on a nail. And his poor wife didn't know what to do, and then a lady that she lived with before she married was going to Egypt, and she told her she would take her as nurse to look after the children. She didn't know what to do with little Lise and while she was wondering an English lady and her little sick son came along the canal in a barge. They talked. And the English lady, who was looking for some one to play with her son, for he was tired of being always alone, said she would take Lise along and she would educate the little girl. The lady said she would have doctors who would cure her and she would be able to speak some day. Before they went, Lise wanted her aunt to explain to me what I was to say to you if you came to see her. That's all."

I was so amazed that I could find no words. But Mattia never lost his head like me.

"Where did the English lady go?" he asked.

"To Switzerland. Lise was to have written to me so that I could give you her address, but I haven't received the letter yet."



CHAPTER XXXII

FINDING A REAL MOTHER

"Forward! March! Children!" cried Mattia after we had thanked the woman. "It is not only Arthur and Mrs. Milligan now that we are going after, but Lise. What luck! Who knows what's in store for us!"

We went on our way in search of the Swan, only stopping just to sleep and to earn a few sous.

"From Switzerland one goes to Italy," said Mattia softly. "If, while running after Mrs. Milligan, we get to Lucca, how happy my little Christina will be."

Poor dear Mattia! He was helping me to seek those I loved and I had done nothing to help him see his little sister.

At Lyons we gained on the Swan. It was now only six weeks ahead of us. I doubted if we could catch up with it before it reached Switzerland. And then I did not know that the river Rhone was not navigable up to the Lake of Geneva. We had thought that Mrs. Milligan would go right to Switzerland on her boat. What was my surprise when arriving at the next town to see the Swan in the distance. We began to run along the banks of the river. What was the matter? Everything was closed up on the barge. There were no flowers on the veranda. What had happened to Arthur? We stopped, looking at each other both with the same sorrowful thoughts.

A man who had charge of the boat told us that the English lady had gone to Switzerland with a sick boy and a little dumb girl. They had gone in a carriage with a maid; the other servants had followed with the baggage. We breathed again.

"Where is the lady?" asked Mattia.

"She has taken a villa at Vevy, but I cannot say where; she is going to spend the summer there."

We started for Vevy. Now they were not traveling away from us. They had stopped and we should be sure to find them at Vevy if we searched. We arrived there with three sous in our pockets and the soles off our boots. But Vevy is not a little village; it is a town, and as for asking for Mrs. Milligan, or even an English lady with a sick son and a dumb girl, we knew that that would be absurd. There are so many English in Vevy; the place is almost like an English pleasure resort. The best way, we thought, was to go to all the houses where they might be likely to live. That would not be difficult; we had only to play our music in every street. We tried everywhere, but yet we could see no signs of Mrs. Milligan.

We went from the lake to the mountains, from the mountains to the lake, looking to the right and to the left, questioning from time to time people who, from their expression, we thought would be disposed to listen and reply. Some one sent us to a chalet built way up on the mountain; another assured us that she lived down by the lake. They were indeed English ladies who lived up in the chalet on the mountain and the villa down by the lake; but not our Mrs. Milligan.

One afternoon we were playing in the middle of the road. The house before us had a large iron gate; the house behind stood way back in a garden. In the front of it there was a stone wall. I was singing my loudest. I sung the first verse of my Neapolitan song and was about to commence the second when we heard a weak strange voice singing. Who could it be? What a strange voice!

"Arthur?" inquired Mattia.

"No, no, it is not Arthur. I have never heard that voice before."

But Capi commenced to whine and gave every sign of intense joy while jumping against the wall.

"Who is singing?" I cried, unable to contain myself.

"Remi!" called a weak voice.

My name instead of an answer! Mattia and I looked at one another, thunderstruck. As we stood looking stupidly into each other's faces, I saw a handkerchief being waved at the end of the wall. We ran to the spot. It was not until we got to the hedge which surrounded the other side of the garden that we saw the one who was waving.

Lise! At last we had found her and not far away were Mrs. Milligan and Arthur!

But who had sung? That was the question that Mattia and I asked as soon as we found words.

"I," answered Lise.

Lise was singing! Lise was talking!

The doctors had said that one day Lise would recover her speech, and very probably, under the shock of a violent emotion, but I did not think that it could be possible. And yet the miracle had happened, and it was upon knowing that I had come to her and hearing me sing the Neapolitan song I used to sing to her, that she had felt this intense emotion, and was restored to her voice. I was so overcome at this thought that I had to stretch out my hand to steady myself.

"Where is Mrs. Milligan?" I asked, "and Arthur?"

Lise moved her lips, but she could only utter inarticulate sounds, then impatiently she used the language of her hands, for her tongue was still clumsy in forming words. She pointed down the garden and we saw Arthur lying in an invalid's chair. On one side of him was his mother, and on the other ... Mr. James Milligan. In fear, in fact almost terror, I stooped down behind the hedge. Lise must have wondered why I did so. Then I made a sign to her to go.

"Go, Lise, or you'll betray me," I said. "Come to-morrow here at nine o'clock and be alone, then I can talk to you."

She hesitated for a moment, then went up the garden.

"We ought not to wait till to-morrow to speak to Mrs. Milligan," said Mattia. "In the meantime that uncle might kill Arthur. He has never seen me and I'm going to see Mrs. Milligan at once and tell her."

There was some reason in what Mattia proposed, so I let him go off, telling him that I would wait for him at a short distance under a big chestnut tree. I waited a long time for Mattia. More than a dozen times I wondered if I had not made a mistake in letting him go. At last I saw him coming back, accompanied by Mrs. Milligan. I ran to her, and, seizing the hand that she held out to me, I bent over it. But she put her arms round me and, stooping down, kissed me tenderly on the forehead.

"Poor, dear child," she murmured.

With her beautiful white fingers she pushed the hair back from my forehead and looked at me for a long time.

"Yes, yes," she whispered softly.

I was too happy to say a word.

"Mattia and I have had a long talk," she said, "but I want you to tell me yourself how you came to enter the Driscoll family."

I told her what she asked and she only interrupted me to tell me to be exact on certain points. Never had I been listened to with such attention. Her eyes did not leave mine.

When I had finished she was silent for some time, still looking at me. At last she said: "This is a very serious matter and we must act prudently. But from this moment you must consider yourself as the friend," she hesitated a little, "as the brother of Arthur. In two hours' time go to the Hotel des Alpes; for the time being you will stay there. I will send some one to the hotel to meet you. I am obliged to leave you now."

Again she kissed me and after having shaken hands with Mattia she walked away quickly.

"What did you tell Mrs. Milligan?" I demanded of Mattia.

"All that I have said to you and a lot more things," he replied. "Ah, she is a kind lady, a beautiful lady!"

"Did you see Arthur?"

"Only from a distance, but near enough to see that he looked a nice sort of boy."

I continued to question Mattia, but he answered me vaguely.

Although we were in our ragged street suits, we were received at the hotel by a servant in a black suit and a white tie. He took us to our apartment. How beautiful we thought our bedroom. There were two white beds side by side. The windows opened onto a balcony overlooking the lake. The servant asked us what we would like for dinner, which he would serve us on the balcony if we wished.

"Have you any tarts?" asked Mattia.

"Yes, rhubarb tarts, strawberry tarts, and gooseberry tarts."

"Good. Then you can serve these tarts."

"All three?"

"Certainly."

"And what entree? What meat? Vegetables?"

At each offer Mattia opened his eyes, but he would not allow himself to be disconcerted.

"Anything, just what you like," he replied coolly.

The butler left the room gravely.

The next day Mrs. Milligan came to see us; she was accompanied by a tailor and a shirt maker who took our measures for some suits and shirts. Mrs. Milligan told us that Lise was still trying to talk and that the doctor had declared that she would soon be cured, then after having spent an hour with us she left us, again kissing me tenderly and shaking hands warmly with Mattia.

For four days she came, each time she was more affectionate and loving to me, yet still with a certain restraint. The fifth day the maid, whom I had known on the Swan, came in her place. She told us that Mrs. Milligan was expecting us and that a carriage was at the hotel doors to take us to her. Mattia took his seat in the brougham as though he had been used to riding in a carriage all his life. Capi also jumped in without any embarrassment and sat down on the velvet cushions.

The drive was short, it seemed to me very short, for I was like one in a dream, my head filled with foolish ideas, or at least what I thought might be foolish. We were shown into a drawing-room. Mrs. Milligan, Arthur, and Lise were there. Arthur held out his arms. I rushed over to him, then I kissed Lise. Mrs. Milligan kissed me.

"At last," she said, "the day has come when you can take the place that belongs to you."

I looked to her to ask her to explain. She went over to a door and opened it. Then came the grand surprise! Mother Barberin entered. In her arms she carried some baby's clothes, a white cashmere pelisse, a lace bonnet, some woolen shoes. She had only time to put these things on the table before I was hugging her. While I fondled her, Mrs. Milligan gave an order to the servant. I heard only the name of Milligan, but I looked up quickly. I know that I turned pale.

"You have nothing to fear," said Mrs. Milligan gently; "come over here and place your hand in mine."

James Milligan came into the room, smiling and showing his white pointed teeth. When he saw me, the smile turned to a horrible grimace. Mrs. Milligan did not give him time to speak.

"I asked for you to come here," she said, her voice shaking, "to introduce you to my eldest son, whom I have at last found"; she pressed my hand. "But you have met him already; you saw him at the home of the man who stole him, when you went there to inquire after his health."