began to cry again, ‘there, baby—hush, sweet—hush, dear little baby, hush.’
This lady’s voice had quite a new tone for Dickory, a sweeter tone even than Peter’s or Flossy’s. She stopped crying at once.
‘Our baby takes to you, ma’am,’ said Flossy, in a voice of thrilling interest.
Peter, very pale, and still silent, drew a step nearer.
‘Well, children,’ said the lady, ‘I have made up my mind. I’ll take this baby home for the night. My husband will think me mad—anyone in their senses would think me mad, but I’m nearly wild with mother-hunger, and that little mite there,’ pointing to Flossy, ‘guessed it, and she brought me the baby, and I say God bless her for it, whether she’s a ragamuffin or not. Yes, I have made up my mind. I shall take the baby home for to-night at least. In the
morning I shall make inquiries, but for to-night the baby is mine.’
‘Half milk, half water in her bottle,’ said Peter in a very grave reproachful voice. ‘Half milk, half water, and a little sugar, and a pinch of salt, and Dickory likes her feet kept werry warm. Come home, Flossy.’
‘And we are not ragamuffins, please lady,’ said Flossy. ‘Our name is Franklin, and we live in 24 Montfiore Square. We lets lodgings, please lady, and it was Mr Martin what turned so crusty about baby.’
‘Tell your mother I will come and see her to-morrow,’ said the lady. ‘You have a mother, I suppose?’
‘Yes, oh yes. She wanted to send the baby to the workhouse.’