"Don't be startled, Nurse," he said, as he looked round and saw her. "Your master has asked me to design a new decoration for this room, and I'm having a peep about in quest of inspiration. Ah, Strathmere, 'Dustman's time,' I see. Pleasant dreams to you, old chap. See you in the morning when you're awake." "Say good night to the gentleman, your lordship," said the nurse, laying both hands on his shoulders and leading him forward, whereupon he began to whine sleepily: "Want Sambo! Want Sambo!" and to rub his fists into his eyes. "Yes, dearie, Nanny'll get Sambo for your lordship after your lordship has said good night to the gentleman," soothed the nurse; and held him gently until he had done so. "Good night, old chap," said Cleek. "Hello, Nurse, got a sore finger, have you, eh? How did that happen? It looks painful." "It is, sir, though I can't for the life of me think whatever could have made a thing so bad from just scratching one's finger, unless it could have happened that there was something poisonous on the wretched magpie's claws. One never can be sure where those nasty things go nor what they dip into." "The magpie?" repeated Cleek. "What do you mean by that, Nurse? Have you had an unpleasant experience with a magpie, then?" "Yes, sir, that big one of Mr. Essington's: the nasty creature that's always flying about. It was a fortnight ago, sir. Mistress' pet dog had got into the nursery and laid hold of Sambo--which is his lordship's rag doll, sir, as he never will go to sleep without--tore it well nigh to pieces did the dog; and knowing how his lordship would cry and mourn if he saw it like that, I fetched in my work-basket and started to mend it. I'd just got it pulled into something like shape and was about to sew it up when I was called out of the room for a few minutes, and when I came back there was that wretched Magpie that had been missing for several days right inside my work-basket trying to steal my reels of cotton, sir. It had come in through the open window--like it so often does, nasty thing. I loathe magpies and I believe that that one knows it. Anyway, when I caught up a towel and began to flick at it to get it out of the room, it turned on me and scratched or pecked my finger, and it's been bad ever since. Cook says she thinks I must have touched it against something poisonous after the skin was broken. Maybe I did, sir, but I can't think what." Cleek made no comment; merely turned on his heel and walked out of the room.