"Pooh! nonsense. People constantly recover from what is called bad affection of the lungs. Can nothing be done for her?" "Nothing," replied Miss Lillycrop; "she will not leave her husband or her home. If she dies--" "Well, what then?" "Little Tottie must be rescued, you know, and I have set my heart on doing it." "You'll do nothing of the sort," said Miss Stivergill firmly. Miss Lillycrop looked surprised. "No, you shan't rescue her," continued the good lady, with still firmer emphasis; "you've got all London at your feet, and there's plenty more where that one came from. Come, Lilly, you mustn't be greedy. You may have the baby if you like, but you must leave little Bones to me." Miss Lillycrop was making feeble resistance to this proposal when the subject of dispute suddenly appeared at the door with glaring eyes and a horrified expression of face. Baby was in her arms as usual, and both he and his nurse were drenched, besides being covered from head to foot with mud. It needed little explanation to tell that in crossing a ditch on a single plank Tottie had stumbled and gone headlong into the water with baby in her arms. Fortunately neither was hurt, though both had been terribly frightened. Miss Stivergill was equal to the occasion. Ordering two tubs half-full of warm water into the back kitchen, she stripped the unfortunates and put them therein, to the intense joy of baby, whose delight in a warm bath was only equalled by his pleasure in doing mischief. At first Miss Stivergill thought of burning the children's garments, and fitting them out afresh, but on the suggestion of her friend that their appearing at home with new clothes might create suspicion, and cause unpleasant inquiries, she refrained. When thoroughly cleaned, Tottie and baby were wrapped up in shawls and set down to a hearty tea in the parlour. While this was being devoured, the two friends conversed of many things. Among others, Miss Stivergill touched on the subject of her progenitors, and made some confidential references to her mother, which her friend received with becoming sympathy. "Yes, my dear," said Miss Stivergill, in a tone of unwonted tenderness. "I don't mind telling you all about her, for you're a good soul, with a feeling heart. Her loss was a terrible loss to me, though it was great gain to her. Before her death we were separated for a time--only a short time,--but it proved to be a blessed separation, for the letters she wrote me sparkled with love and wit and playfulness, as though they had been set with pearls and rubies and diamonds. I shall show you my treasures before going to bed. I keep them in that box on the sideboard, to be always handy. It is not large, but its contents are more precious to me than thousands of gold and silver." She paused; and then, observing that Tottie was staring at her, she advised her to make the most of her opportunity, and eat as much as possible.