Oh, no! not for Killcrichtoun, or a hundred Killcrichtouns, would he have committed such a crime. But—he was too prone to consider certain facts in the statistics of population, life and death; how it was set down that more than one half the children born, died before they had attained the age of three years. He supposed little Lenny to be about two years and a half old. He wondered whether the child had passed safely through measles, whooping-cough, scarlet fever, and all the other perilous “ills” to which children’s “flesh is heir,” or whether he had yet to encounter all or any of them.
He had gathered from Lord Killcrichtoun’s narrative that the child lived with his mother and her friends at the Morley House, and that he was often taken by his nurse to walk in Trafalgar square and its vicinity.
And so, morning, noon, and evening, when not engaged in his school duties or with his family, he prowled about the neighborhood, to waylay little Lenny and his nurse, and watch over his health.
One day, when no one else was very near, he saw Pina and her charge together, and accosted them.
“How do you do, my little man?” he inquired, patting Lenny on the head or rather, the hat.
“Me not man—me itty boy,” answered Lenny, staring.
“Oh, little boy, are you? Well, how do you do, little boy?” smiled Everage.
“Me very well,—how you?” politely responded Lenny.
“I’m very well too.”
“Me dad you very well too.”