The boy, now a sturdy lad of seven, did not palpitate towards his grandmother with Becky's eagerness. Probably he felt the domestic position less. But he surrendered himself to her long hug. 'Did she beat him,' she murmured soothingly, 'beat my own little Joseph?' 'Don't waste time, granny,' Becky broke in petulantly, 'if we _are_ going.' 'No, my dear. We'll go at once.' And, releasing the boy, Natalya partly undid the lower buttons of his waistcoat. 'You wear no four-corner fringes!' she exclaimed tragically. 'She neglects even to see to that. Ah, it will be a good deed to carry you from this godless home.' 'But I don't want to go with you,' he said sullenly, reminded of past inquisitorial worryings about prayers. 'You little fool!' said Becky. 'You _are_ going--and in that cab.' 'In that cab?' he cried joyfully. 'Yes, my apple. And you will never be beaten again.' 'Oh, _she_ don't hurt!' he said contemptuously. 'She hasn't even got a cane--like at school.' 'But shan't we take our things?' said Becky. 'No, only the things you stand in. They shan't have any excuse for taking you back. I'll find you plenty of clothes, as good as new.' 'And little Daisy?' 'Oh, is it a girl? Your stepmother will look after that. She can't complain of one burden.' She hustled the children into the cab, where, with the sack and herself, they made a tightly-packed quartette. 'I say, I didn't bargain for extras inside,' grumbled the cabman. 'You can't reckon these children,' said Natalya, with confused legal recollections; 'they're both under seven.' The cabman started. Becky stared out of the window. 'I wonder if we'll pass Mrs. Elkman,' she said, amused. Joseph busied himself with disentangling the tails of his kite. But Natalya was too absorbed to notice their indifference to her. That poor little Daisy! The image of the baby swam vividly before her. What a terrible fate to be left in the hands of the public-house woman! Who knew what would happen to it? What if, in her drunken fury at the absence of Becky and Joseph, she did it a mischief? At the best the besotted creature would not take cordially to the task of bringing it up. It was no child of hers--had not even the appeal of pure Jewish blood. And there it lay, smiling, with its beautiful blue eyes. It had smiled trustfully on herself, not knowing she was to leave it to its fate. And now it was crying; she heard it crying above the rattle of the cab. But how could she charge herself with it--she, with her daily rounds to make? The other children were grown up, passed the day at school. No, it was impossible. And the child's cry went on in her imagination louder and louder. She put her head out of the window. 'Turn back! Turn back! I've forgotten something.' The cabman swore. 'D'ye think you've taken me by the week?' 'Threepence extra. Drive back.' The cab turned round, the innocent horse got a stinging flip of the whip, and set off briskly.