‘Lor,’ replied Mrs. Moss, ‘you don’t say so! I fancy she can’t be quite right ‘ere.’ And Mrs. Moss put a very dirty and very fat forefinger on her matronly brow. ‘I don’t believe she’s old Heckett’s gal at all,’ added Mrs. Maloney, as she stared hard across the road to the doorway where sat the unconscious object of her criticism. ‘It’s my belief she’s been stole, like the gal in the play as was a nobleman’s dorter, arter all.’ What Mrs. Moss would have replied to this suggestion can never be known, for at this moment the attention of both ladies was attracted by the very extraordinary conduct of the child in question. Gertie Heckett, who had long been wistfully looking up the street, suddenly leaped up and made a joyful dash at a gentleman who was elbowing his way through the crowd. He was a good-looking, well-dressed gentleman, of about eight-and-thirty. Gertie Heckett’s pretty face lit up with pleasure the moment she caught sight of him. She was by his side in a moment, and looking up into his face with her wistful blue eyes. ‘Oh, Dr. Birnie, I’m so glad you ‘ve come. Grandfather’s worse—I’m sure he is.’ ‘What makes you think he’s worse, my child?’ ‘Because he gets crosser and crosser, and’—here a flush of shame came upon her cheeks and she held her head down—‘and because he swears at me worse than ever.’ Dr. Birnie laughed. He didn’t notice the pained tone in which the child made her confession. ‘Cross and swears, eh, little one? That’s a good sign, not a bad one. People are always cross when they’re getting well.’ ‘Oh, then I don’t mind his being cross; but, Dr. Birnie, will you be very kind, and do me a favour?’ She looked up at the doctor timidly, as though she was taking a great liberty. ‘A favour? Eh, what is it? Has your doll got the measles, or does Lion want a cough mixture?’ The child laughed for a moment, tickled by the notion; but her face resumed its serious expression again directly. ‘No, it isn’t that, Dr. Birnie; but I want you to ask grandfather not to swear at me. It hurts me here.’ She put her hand on her heart, and spoke with such earnest emphasis, that the doctor stopped on the threshold of the house, which they had just reached, and looked earnestly in her face. ‘Poor little thing!’ he said, laying his hand kindly on her smoothly plaited hair, ‘what a shame it is!’ Then, without answering Gertie Heckett’s petition, he ran rapidly up the stairs, the child following him.