"Eh! What, lost?"
"All in good time. Here we are! You must come in and see my old lady and then you will know why I was moon-struck over that dismal picture."
He had stopped at one of the houses in the street, inserted a latchkey into the door, and then took Christina up a steep flight of stairs.
"Now," he said, ushering her into a small drawing-room that was only lighted by a flickering fire, "here is my good wife. She can't see you in this fog, and she couldn't if it was bright sunshine, for she is quite blind, so she will take my word for it when I tell her that you are a very pretty little lady with eyes like our Minnie's. Come and shake hands with her."
Christina crossed the room timidly. Seated in an armchair by the fire was a very sweet-looking old lady. She was knitting a scarf, and had just laid down her work to listen to her husband's voice. "Very glad to see you, dear, or—I should say—to have you here, as I can't see any one. It is not often we have little visitors. How did you meet her, Ted?"
"Looking at a picture. Ah, dear! Don't remind me of it. Just a picture of ourselves a few years later! And then she ran away from me, and then we met again in the streets, and she told me she was lost. Lost in London! I wonder how many loot souls London is responsible for!"
The old gentleman took off his hat and sat down heavily on a chair. Christina looked at him in wonder, then she laid her little hand softly on the old lady's withered one.
"I'm not quite lost, because I know the name of our hotel, and any one will take me there, won't they? It's this dreadful fog. I couldn't see the boys any more."
"Ted dear, ring the bell. Chivers will bring up tea. You must stay and have some tea, little girl, and then my husband will take you home. He wants cheering up; but he is not always so gloomy as this!"
Christina stayed to tea. She did not see what else she could do, and she confided to the old couple a good deal concerning herself and the boys.