Mrs. Shafto stood by, in silence, for a minute or so; and then she laid her hand gently on his rough head.
"Come home, Sandy," she said; "come home with me, and have tea with my Johnny."
"She's my mother, you know," whispered Sandy, hoarsely, "just like you're Johnny's mother; and I rec'lect her kissin' of me once when I were a little chap. I don't want to think she could kill little Gip!"
"No, no," answered Mrs. Shafto; "she never could, I'm sure. It's not in a mother's nature; and who should know how a mother feels better than me, when I've had four, and lost them all, save Johnny? Come home with me, Sandy; and we'll talk it over with Johnny and Mr. Shafto."
———◆———
[CHAPTER VII.]
A SAD SIGHT.
MRS. SHAFTO and Sandy were leaving the alley, disappointed and cast down, when a policeman, who seemed to be lying in wait for them, crossed the street, and laid his hand firmly on the lad's shoulder. Sandy writhed and struggled, but he could not set himself free from the strong grip. A knot of people, principally the inhabitants of the alley, gathered round quickly, and Mrs. Shafto's rosy face grew pale and frightened.
"What has the boy been doing?" she ventured to ask the policeman; for she was hemmed in by the crowd, and could not escape and start away home, as in the first moment of terror she wished to do.
"He's been doing nothing that I know of just now," answered the policeman; "but we want him at the station for a few minutes; and I must take care he doesn't give me the slip. Slippery as eels all this sort are."