“Sir,—I am enabled thus soon to repay you the sovereign you so generously lent me to-day. Had it been out of my power to do so to-night you would most probably have seen me as you expected. It is better as it is, for I have nothing to communicate which I desire to make public. I shall ever retain a lively sense of your kindness, and I depend upon the fulfilment of your promise not to write about me in your paper for three days. If you do not know what else to do with the money received by your paper in response to its appeal for subscriptions on my behalf, I can tell you. Give it to the poor.—Your faithful servant,
“Antony Cowlrick.”
The handwriting was that of an educated man, and the mystery surrounding Antony Cowlrick was deepened by the last proceeding.
A voice from the bed aroused our Reporter from his meditations. Little Fanny was awake, and was calling for Blanche.
“Blanche is not in yet,” said our Reporter. “Come and eat your supper.”
The little girl struggled to her feet, and approached the table. The curiosity of our Reporter was strongly excited, and before giving Fanny the message and the shilling left for her by Blanche, he determined to question her. Thereupon the following colloquy ensued:—
Our Reporter: This is your supper, Fanny.
Fanny (carefully spreading the brown sugar over her bread): Yes. Blanche never forgits me.
Our Reporter: Sugar every night?