“Here we are. This is the place where the old lawyer hangs out.” Owlet looked all the way up the front of the house, and then turned great round eyes of inquiry to Harcourt’s face. “Oh, I don’t mean himself, but his sign. There it is—‘Amos Merritt, Attorney-at-Law.’” “Oh, yes,” said the child, as her companion led her into the house and up the stairs to the second floor, where Mr. Merritt’s chambers were situated. He opened a door on the right, that led into a large front room, where a young clerk sat writing at a desk. There was no one else in this outer office. “Is Mr. Merritt in?” inquired Harcourt, going up to the desk. “In his private office, yes, sir,” the clerk replied. “Will you take my card to him and say that I would be pleased to see him?” “Yes, sir,” the young man answered, and he took the bit of pasteboard and carried it into the back room. In a few minutes he returned and said: “Mr. Merritt will see you, sir.” “Now, my dear little girl, will you mind sitting here for a few minutes, while I go in first to speak to Mr. Merritt alone?” Harcourt inquired of the child. “Well, n—no,” said Owlet reluctantly, “not if you want me to do it. But you know Mr. Merritt is a very good friend of mine.” “Yes, I know, and you shall come in and speak to him presently.” “All right; go along. I will sit away off here by the window and look out on the street. I don’t want to hear your secrets,” said Owlet, with a ludicrous burlesque of childish dignity. At a happier time Harcourt might have smiled at the little airs of the child, but now he only laid his hand kindly on her head, and then saying, “I will not be gone long,” passed into the inner room. Lawyer Merritt had risen to receive his unexpected visitor, and now stood facing the door, drawn up to his utmost height, with a very severe expression of countenance, and without a word of welcome on his lips. Young Harcourt felt chilled and discouraged by such a want of welcome, and hastened to say, deprecatingly: “Mr. Merritt, I should, perhaps, apologize for this intrusion, but I have come here on business in which I think one of your fair clients is interested.” “Then take a seat, sir, and be good enough to let me know the precise nature of the business which has procured me the unlooked for honor of this call,” said the lawyer frigidly. “Thank you, I will not sit,” said Harcourt, flushing deeply. “What I have to say may be said in a very few minutes.” The lawyer bowed, and stood waiting, with one hand resting upon his desk. “You received a telegram yesterday announcing the discovery of a child lost in the streets of New York, and ascertained to have been stolen from the custody of her guardian, Miss Fronde, at Goblin Hall?” “I did receive such a telegram, sir, and answered it. May I inquire what you have to do with the matter?”