Their quarters were worse than chilly--to all but the baby in her blanket manifoldly wrapped about her, and in Clare’s arms. Tommy would gladly have shared that blanket, more gladly yet would have taken it all for himself and left the baby to perish; but he had to lie on the broad wooden bench and make the best of it, which he did by snoring all the night. It passed drearily for Clare, who kept wide awake. He was not anxious about the morrow; he had nothing to be ashamed of, therefore nothing to fear; but he had baby to protect and cherish, and he dared not go to sleep. Chapter XXXVII. THE MAGISTRATE. The dawn came at last, and soon after the dawn footsteps, but they approached only to recede. When the door at length opened, it was but to let a pair of eyes glance round on them, and close again. The hours seemed to be always beginning, and never going on. But at the long last came the big policeman. To Clare’s loving eyes, how friendly he looked! “Come, kids!” he said, and took them through a long passage to a room in the town-hall, where sat a formal-looking old gentleman behind a table. “Good morning, sir!” said Clare, to the astonishment of the magistrate, who set his politeness down as impudence. Nor was the mistake to be wondered at; for the baby in Clare’s arms hid, with the mountain-like folds of its blanket, the greater part of his face, and the old gentleman’s eyes fell first on Tommy; and if ever _scamp_ was written clear on a countenance, it was written clear on Tommy’s. “Hold your impudent tongue!” said a policeman, and gave Clare a cuff on the head. “Hold, John,” interposed the magistrate; “it is my part to punish, not yours.” “Thank you, sir,” said Clare. “I will thank _you_, sir,” returned the magistrate, “not to speak till I put to you the questions I am about to put to you.--What is the charge against the prisoners?” “Housebreaking, sir,” answered the big man. “What! Housebreaking! Boys with a baby! House-breakers don’t generally go about with babies in their arms! Explain the thing.” The policeman said he had received information that unlawful possession had been taken of a building commonly known as The Haunted House, which had been in Chancery for no one could tell how many years. He had gone to see, and had found the accused in possession of the best bedroom--fast asleep, surrounded by indications that they had made themselves at home there for some time. He had brought them along. The magistrate turned his eyes on Clare. “You hear what the policeman says?” he said. “Yes, sir,” answered Clare. “Well?” “Sir?” “What have you to say to it?” “Nothing, sir.” “Then you allow it is true?” “Yes, sir.” “What right had you to be there?”