“Alive! Oh, very, very much so, and means to stop, for it has brought its entire wardrobe and a letter of introduction with it,” holding the letter for any one to take who chose. It was Lacy who did so, and he asked if he should read it up. “Yes, do,” said Bootles, dropping into a chair with a groan. “Perhaps some one else will own to it.” So Lacy read the letter in his ridiculous drawl of a voice, and ceased amid profound silence—“Fa-ah-well!” “Well?” said Bootles, finding no one seemed inclined to speak. “Well?” “Well,” said Preston, solemnly, “if you want my opinion, Bootles, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” A general laugh followed, but Bootles protested. “Oh, don’t imagine it’s me. I’ve nothing to do with it. I shouldn’t have come to you fellows if I had.” “No, no, of course not,” returned Miles, promptly, but with an air which raised another shout. “Then it’s a plant,” announced Preston, in a tone of conviction. “Of course it’s a plant,” cried Bootles; “but why in the wide world should it be planted on me?” “Why, indeed?” echoed Miles, feelingly. “Besides,” Bootles continued, “some of you know my mother, and that her name was not Mary but Margaret.” Now as several of those present had known Lady Margaret Ferrers very well, that was a strong point in favor of Preston’s assertion that the affair was a plant. The chief question, however, was what could be done with the little stranger for that night. Some woman, of course, must look after it, but who? It was then after two o’clock, and the lights had been out hours ago in the married people’s quarters. Bootles did not know what to do, and said so. “Is it in your room now?” Preston asked. “Yes.” “Where did you find it?” “In my cot.” “The devil you did! I wonder you weren’t frightened out of your very wits.” “I nearly was,” Bootles admitted. “Did you see it at once? Was it howling?” “Howling? Not a bit of it. Never saw a jollier little beggar in all my life.” “Oh!” ejaculated Miles, blankly. “I say, you fellows, don’t that sound to you very much like the proud pap—ah?” “You fellows” all laughed at this, even perplexed Bootles, and Hartog asked a question. “Did you see it directly, Bootles?” “Oh no; not for half an hour or more.” “What on earth did you do?” “Why, I looked at it of course. What would you have done?” “Did you _touch_ it?” Bootles laughed. “Yes, by Jove, the little beggar came to me like a bird.” “Great gods!” uttered Miles, “and you can doubt the fatherliness of _that_!” “Oh, what an ass you are!” returned Hartog; then, as if by a bright inspiration, suggested, “I say, let’s go and have a look at it.”