“Please, sir, wouldn’t it do in the morning?” pleaded Clare. “I’ve no work now, and could easily go then. That way we should all have a sleep.” “My eye ain’t green enough,” replied the policeman. “Look sharp!” Clare said no more, but went to the baby. With sinking but courageous heart, he wrapped her closer in her blanket, and took her in his arms. He could not help her crying, but she did not scream. Indeed she never really screamed; she was not strong enough to scream. “Get along,” said the policeman. Clare led the way with his bundle, sorely incommoded by the size and weight of the wrapping blanket, the corners of which, one after the other, would keep working from his hold, and dropping and trailing on the ground. Behind him came Tommy, a scarecrow monkey, with mischievous face, and greedy beads for eyes--type not unknown to the policeman, who brought up the rear, big enough to have all their sizes cut out of him, and yet pass for a man. Down the stair they went, and out at the front door, which Clare for the first time saw open, and so by the iron gate into the street. [Illustration: CLARE, TOMMY, AND THE BABY IN CUSTODY.] “Which way, please?” asked Clare, turning half round with the question. “To the right, straight ahead. The likes o’ you, young un, might know the way to the lock-up without astin’!” Clare made no answer, but walked obedient. It was a sad procession--comical indeed, but too sad when realized to continue ludicrous. The thin, long-bodied, big-headed, long-haired, long-tailed, short-legged animal that followed last, seemed to close it with a never-ending end. There was no moon; nothing but the gas-lamps lighted Clare’s _Via dolorosa_. He hugged the baby and kept on, laying his cheek to hers to comfort her, and receiving the comfort he did not seek. They came at last to the _lock-up_, a new building in the rear of the town-house. There this tangle of humanity, torn from its rock and afloat on the social sea, drifted trailing into a bare brilliant room, and at its head, cast down but not destroyed, went heavy-laden Clare, with so much in him, but only his misery patent to eyes too much used to misery to reap sorrow from the sight. The head policeman--they called him the inspector--received the charge, that of house-breaking, and entered it. Then they were taken away to the lock-up--all but the faithful Abdiel, who, following, received another of the kicks which that day rained on every member of that epitome of the human family except the baby, who, small enough for a mother to drown, was too small for a policeman to kick. The door was shut upon them, and they had to rest in that grave till the resurrection of the morning should bring them before the magistrate.