'I am, rather,' I answered. 'But it doesn't matter, for I have nothing to do to-morrow.'
'We shall get a cab, I dare say, before we go far.'
'Not for me. I am not so tired, but that I would rather walk,' I said.
'Very well,' he returned. 'Where do you live?'
I told him.
'I will take you the nearest way.'
'You know London marvellously.'
'Pretty well now,' he answered.
We were somewhere near Leather Lane about one o'clock. Suddenly we came upon two tiny children standing on the pavement, one on each side of the door of a public-house. They could not have been more than two and three. They were sobbing a little—not much. The tiny creatures stood there awfully awake in sleeping London, while even their own playmates were far off in the fairyland of dreams.
'This is the kind of thing,' I said, 'that makes me doubt whether there be a God in heaven.'