“I’ll answer for her, judge! That gal must never go to the workhouse. It would be a burning shame, in this Christian age.” A buzz of surprise ran over the scene, while Deacon Cornhill, who had made the bold declaration, pushed his way forward to the side of the young bootblack. “It’s too bad to send such an innercent to the workhouse, judge. How much is there to pay?” “Who are you, sir?” demanded the recorder, looking askance at the countrified speaker. “Deacon Elihu Cornhill, of Basinburg, your honor.” “And you promise that she shall be provided for, Mr. Cornhill?” “I do, judge.” “Very well. In that case sentence is suspended during good behavior. She is too young and apparently too innocent to be sent to the workhouse. But, remember, miss, if you are brought back here a double sentence will be imposed.” “Shameful, judge. Send such a bright girl to the workhouse----” “Silence!” ordered the recorder, at the same time pushing a ponderous book toward the discomfited deacon. “Please put your name down there.” As soon as Deacon Cornhill signed the necessary document, and finding that she was at liberty to do so, the young prisoner took Rob’s hand. Then, without further delay, while a generous murmur of applause ran over the crowd, the three left the courtroom, to be joined at the door by Chick. “Where have you been, Joe, since that dreadful night when the old rookery was torn down over our heads, and we lost each other?” “Everywhere, Rob. I am so thankful now that you saved me from the workhouse that I cannot say anything.” “It was not I, Joey, but this kind gentleman, Deacon Cornhill.” “I wish to thank you, sir. If you will only come home I am sure mother will do it much better than I can. Poor mother! how she must have been worrying about me.” “How is she, Joe?” “No better, Rob. And I have been away all day. You will go home with me?” “Yes; that is, as soon as I have showed this gentleman to Bradford’s.” “Don’t stop to do that, my son. Go home with the leetle one first. If she don’t object, I’ll go along with you.” “Of course I don’t object, and mother will be glad to see you. How you have grown since I saw you last.” “No more than you, Joe. Why, you are almost as tall as mother now. But, as we walk along, you must tell us how you were brought up before the recorder. Chick, you will go with us.” “Well, you see, Rob,” began the girl, “mother has been so poorly for a week that I have neglected business. But to-day, seeing we had nothing in the house to eat and no money, I had to start out in earnest. I seemed pretty lucky at once, for inside of an hour I met a fine, old gent, who gave me ten cents to carry his portmanteau three squares and----” “The lazy bones!” interjected Deacon Cornhill. “Do you mean to say, miss, the man let you carry his satchel alone?” “I was glad to have him, sir, for it meant dinner for poor mother, and medicine, too.” “Isn’t your father living?”