"You go," advised Mrs. Tawsey. "There's five pounds offered for the brat's bein' found."
"Five pun!" gasped Mrs. Purr, trembling. "Lor', and me 'avin' a chanct of gittin' it. I'll go—I'll go. I knows the Yard, 'avin' 'ad summat to do with them dirty perlice in my time. Miss Sylvia—"
"Yes, go, Mrs. Purr, and see Mr. Hurd. He'll give you the five pounds if you take him to Tray." Sylvia handed back the paper. "Tray seems to be ill."
"Ill or well, he sha'n't lose me five pun, if I 'ave to drag 'im to the lock-up m'self," said Mrs. Purr, resolutely. "Where's my bunnet—my shawl—oh lor'—five pun! Them is as good allays gits rewards," and she hurried out, hardly able to walk for excitement.
"There's a nice ole party fur you, Miss Sylvia?"
"Debby," said the girl, thoughtfully. "You take her to the Yard to see Mr. Hurd, and then go to Kensington to speak with your sister."
"Well, I'll go, as importance it is," said Mrs. Tawsey, rubbing her nose harder than ever. "But I 'opes you won't be lone, my poppet-dovey."
"Oh, no," said Sylvia, kissing her, and pushing her towards the door. "I'll look after those four women in the wash-house, and read this new book I have. Then I must get tea ready for Paul, who comes at four. The afternoon will pass quite quickly."
"I'll be back at five if I can, and earlier if Matilder ain't what she oughter be," said Mrs. Tawsey, yielding. "So make yourself 'appy, honey, till you sees me smilin' again."