But twilight deepens, and the hope grows fainter. Pollypod's face is on Lily's neck, and Lily feels the tears welling from the child's eyes. Lily begins to feel sorry, also; sorry for more reasons than one. Mrs. Podmore is busy upstairs, scrubbing the room; Sunday is a day of rare, enjoyment to her and her small family. Old Wheels is on the point of suggesting that they shall light the lamp, when a knock comes at the street-door--a strange knock. Not a single knock for the first-floor, not two deliberate knocks for the second-floor, nor three for the third; but a rat-tat-tat, with a flourish which might be intended for some person in this humble house who has distinguished friends in the upper circles of society. Some one--never mind whom--opens the door and a step that none of them recognises is on the stairs. Pollypod jumps from Lily's lap, but Lily retains her hand. The man lingers on the first landing. It is dark, and he is evidently a stranger. "Does Mrs. Podmore live here?" he asks of Nobody, in a loud voice. "Yes," answers Old Wheels, going to the door. "On the third-floor, but she's busy cleaning. What do you want of her?" "I have brought something for her little girl." "O, O!" cries Pollypod, and in her excitement Lily rises, and accompanies the child to the door. "Are you a Captain?" "Yes." "What ship?" inquires Old Wheels, merrily for the child's sake, and nautically in honour of the visitor. "The Fancy" replies the man in the dark. "Come in," says Old Wheels; "the little girl you want is here." And the Captain of the Fancy enters the room. CHAPTER XVII. A HAPPY NIGHT.