_Miss J. J._ (_proudly_). I tell yer I won’t ’ave nothink to do with it, fur I ain’t been used To sneak into the house of a Dook to whom I ’aven’t been introdooced! _Second Burglar_ (_coarsely_). Stow that snivel, yer young himp, we don’t want none of that bosh! _Miss J. J._ (_with spirit_). You hold _your_ jaw--for, when you opens yer mouth, there ain’t much o’ yer face left to wash! [_The_ Burglars _retire, baffled, and muttering_. Miss J. _leans against pillar-box again--but more irresolutely_. I’ve arf a mind to run after ’em, I ’ave, and tell ’em I’m game to stand in!... But, ah,--didn’t my poor mother say as Burglary was a _Sin_! [Duke _crosses stage in a hurry; as he pulls out his latchkey, a threepenny-bit falls unregarded, except by the little_ Sweeper, _who pounces eagerly upon it_. What’s this? A bit o’ good luck at last for a starvin’ orfin boy! What shall I buy? _I_ know--I’ll have a cup of cawfy, and a prime saveloy! Ah,--_but it ain’t mine_--and ’ark ... that music up in the air! [_A harp is heard in the flies._ Can it be mother a-playin’ on the ’arp to warn her boy to beware? (_Awestruck._) There’s a angel voice that is sayin’ plain (_solemnly_) “Him as prigs what isn’t his’n, Is sure to be copped some day--and then--his time he will do in prison!” [_Goes resolutely to the door, and knocks--The_ Duke _throws open the portals_. _Miss J. J._ If yer please, Sir, was you aware as you’ve dropped a thruppenny-bit? _The Duke_ (_after examining the coin._) ’Tis the very piece I have searched for everywhere! You rascal, you’ve _stolen it_! _Miss J. J._ (_bitterly_). And _that’s_ ’ow a Dook rewards honesty in _this_ world! [_This line is sure of a round of applause._ _The Duke_ (_calling off_). Policeman, I give this lad in charge for a shameless attempt to rob, _Enter_ Policeman. Unless he confesses instantly who put him up to the job! _Miss J. J._ (_earnestly_). I’ve told yer the bloomin’ truth, I ’ave--or send I may die! I’m on’y a Crossing-sweeper, Sir, but I’d scorn to tell yer a lie! Give me a quarter of a hour--no more--just time to kneel down and pray, As I used to at mother’s knee long ago--then the Copper kin lead me away. [_Kneels in lime-light. The_ Policeman _turns away, and uses his handkerchief violently; the_ Duke _rubs his eyes_. _The Duke._ No, blow me if I can do it, for I feel my eyes are all twitching! (_With conviction._) If he’s good enough to kneel by his mother’s side, he’s good enough to be in my kitching! [Duke _dismisses_ Constable, _and, after disappearing into the Mansion for a moment, returns with a neat Page’s livery, which he presents to the little_ Crossing-sweeper.