Hardly looking at the child, he raised her in his arms and kissed her.
“God be praised, sir,” he said with a show of feeling. “We ’ave got her back. I think her mother would ’ave died if we ’ad come back again without her,—but, O my little darlin’, you look cruel bad. Drugged, sir, that’s what she is. Drugged to keep ’er quiet and save food. The blag’ard!”
“But what did he take her for?” I asked.
“Bless you, sir,” replied the corporal, “she was his stock in trade. I reckon she’s drawn many dibs out of other people’s pockets that would ’ave been nestlin’ there to-day if it ’adn’t ’a’ bin for ’er.”
Then a broad grin broke over his ruddy features, and he looked at me quizzically.
“But ’e was a great play hactor, sir.”
“And a poet,” I added enthusiastically.
“’E could beat Kipling romancin’, sir.” He checked himself, as though ashamed of awarding such meed of praise to his ex-colleague.
“But we must be goin’; orders strict. With your permission, sir, I will leave her with a guard of one man for to-night, and send the ambulance for her in the morning.”
He drew up his little file, saluted, and marched out into the rain and wind, with all the cheerfulness of a duck.