Mr. Burge looked puzzled in his turn. “Why, hasn't Brother Clark told you about me?” he inquired. Mr. Higgs shook his head. “He sort of—suggested that—that you had been a little bit wild before you came to us,” he murmured apologetically. “A—little—bit—wild?” repeated Brother Burge, in horrified accents. “+Me+? a little bit _wild_?” “No doubt he exaggerated a little,” said the jeweller hurriedly. “Being such a good man himself, no doubt things would seem wild to him that wouldn't to us—to me, I mean.” “A little bit wild,” said his visitor again. “Sam Burge, the Converted Burglar, a little bit _wild_. Well, well!” “Converted _what_?” shouted the jeweller, half-rising from his chair. “Burglar,” said the other shortly. “Why, I should think I know more about the inside o' gaols than anybody in England; I've pretty near killed three policemen, besides breaking a gent's leg and throwing a footman out of window, and then Brother Clark goes and says I've been a little bit wild. I wonder what he would 'ave?” “But you—you've quite reformed now?” said the jeweller, resuming his seat and making a great effort to hide his consternation. “I 'ope so,” said Mr. Burge, with alarming humility; “but it's an uncertain world, and far be it from me to boast. That's why I've come here.” Mr. Higgs, only half-comprehending, sat back gasping. “If I can stand this,” pursued Brother Burge, gesticulating wildly in the direction of the shop, “if I can stand being here with all these 'ere pretty little things to be 'ad for the trouble of picking of 'em up, I can stand anything. Tempt me, I says to Brother Clark. Put me in the way o' temptation, I says. Let me see whether the Evil One or me is the strongest; let me 'ave a good old up and down with the Powers o' Darkness, and see who wins.” Mr. Higgs, gripping the edge of the table with both hands, gazed at this new Michael in speechless consternation. “I think I see his face now,” said Brother Burge, with tender enthusiasm. “All in a glow it was, and he patted me on the shoulder and says, 'I'll send you on a week's mission to Duncombe,' he says, and 'you shall stop with Brother Higgs who 'as a shop full o' cunning wrought vanities in silver and gold.'” “But suppose,” said the jeweller, finding his voice by a great effort, “suppose victory is not given unto you.” “It won't make any difference,” replied his visitor. “Brother Clark promised that it shouldn't. 'If you fall, Brother,' he says, 'we'll help you up again. When you are tired of sin come back to us—there's always a welcome.'” “But—” began the dismayed jeweller. “We can only do our best,” said Brother Burge, “the rest we must leave. I 'ave girded my loins for the fray, and taken much spiritual sustenance on the way down from this little hymn-book.”