In a few minutes the whole party descended to the street. Miss Stivergill locked the door with her own hand, and put the key in her pocket. As she turned round, Tottie's tawdry bonnet had fallen off in her efforts to raise the baby towards the outstretched hands of her mistress, while the cabman stood looking on with amiable interest. Catching up the bonnet, Miss Stivergill placed it on the child's head, back to the front, twisted the strings round her head and face--anyhow-- lifted her and her charge into the cab, and followed them. "Where to, ma'am?" said the amiable cabman. "Charing Cross,--you idiot." "Yes, ma'am," replied the man, with a broad grin, touching his hat and bestowing a wink on a passing policeman as he mounted the box. On their way to the station the good lady put out her head and shouted "Stop!" The maligned man obeyed. "Stay here, Lilly, with the baby.--Jump out, little Bones. Come with me." She took the child's bonnet off and flung it under the cab, then grasped Tottie's hand and led her into a shop. "A hat," demanded the lady of the shopwoman. "What kind of hat, ma'am?" "Any kind," replied Miss Stivergill, "suitable for this child--only see that it's not a doll's hat. Let it fit her." The shopwoman produced a head-dress, which Tottie afterwards described as a billycock 'at with a feather in it. The purchaser paid for it, thrust it firmly on the child's head, and returned to the cab. A few minutes by rail conveyed them to a charmingly country-like suburb, with neat villas dotting the landscape, and a few picturesque old red brick cottages scattered about here and there.