“By Jove! you’re a jolly little chap,” said Bootles, just as if it could understand him. “But the question is, where did you come from, and what’s to be done with you? You can’t stop here, you know.” The babe’s big blue eyes raised themselves to his, and the fingers which had been twined round his made a grab at his watch-chain. “Gar—gar—garr—rah!” it remarked, in such evident delight that Bootles laughed again. “Oh, you like it, do you? Well, you’re a queer little beggar; no mistake about that. I wonder whom you belong to, and where you live when you are at home? Can’t be a barrack child—too dainty-looking and not slobbery enough. And this dress”—taking hold of the richly embroidered white skirt—“this must have cost a lot; and it’s all lace too.” He knew what embroidery cost by his own mess waistcoats and his tunics. Then not only was the dress of the child of a very costly description, but its sleeves were tied up with Cambridge blue ribbons that were evidently new, and its waist was encircled by a broad sash of the same material and tint. Altogether it was just such a child as he was occasionally called upon to admire in the houses of his married brother officers; yet that any lady in the regiment would lend her baby for a whole night to a set of harum-scarum young fellows for the purpose of playing a trick on a brother officer was manifestly absurd. And besides that, Bootles was so good-natured and such a favorite with the ladies of the regiment that he thought he knew all their babies by sight, and he became afraid that this one was indeed a little stranger in the land, welcome or unwelcome. Yet if it was the fellows’ doing, where had they got it? And if it was not the fellows’ doing, why should any one leave a baby asleep in his cot? The whole thing was inexplicable. Just then the child, in playing with his chain, slipped a little on the smooth cloth of his overalls, and Bootles, with a “Whoa! whoa, my lad!” hauled it up again. In doing so he felt a piece of paper rustle somewhere about the embroidered skirt. “A note. This grows melodramatic,” said Bootles, craning his head to find it. “Oh, here we are! Now we shall see.” The note was written in a firm, large, yet thoroughly feminine hand, and ran thus: