"It is precious damp."
"Awful!" said Bertie. "I cannot bear to think of Flora wandering round in such a storm."
"It was rather rough on the Baby Pitcher," asserted Charley.
"It is bad enough to be lost in fair weather with daylight before you."
"I believe you. What is this?"
Bertie had stumbled upon the object.
"That must be the article," said Charley. "Bring it to the light."
They carried it into the hall and threw it upon a mat, for it was dripping, and Charley turned it over with his foot.
"What do you make of it?" queried Bertie.
"It is the black baby," said Charley.