To her dark and gloomy life he had come like some beautiful, brilliant bird of Heaven, and she prized him and delighted in him. It was something of the same sort of natural passion that a child feels for its first wonderful wax doll, or its first beautiful live pet, only it was much more intense, inasmuch as this was a living, loving talking doll—a beautiful, intelligent human pet. And so she kissed him, and hugged him, and shook him, and danced him, and prattled to him, and called him all the sweet names that, on such cases, spring spontaneously to the lips of girls and women. And Lenny, in his gracious, genial nature, gave kiss for kiss, and caress for caress. I think if poor Drusilla, waking in her agony of bereavement, that same morning, could have seen, as in a magic glass, these two friends—the girl and the baby,—she would have been contented,—no, not that, but she would have felt comforted. “Lenny love Met,” said the child, patting her cheeks. “And ‘Met’ loves Lenny dearly, dearly, dearly! and nobody shall hurt him—they shall kill ‘Met’ first!” Now, as “hurt” and “kill” were words that had never been introduced into this cherished baby’s vocabulary, he did not understand and did not know how to reply; but he felt that _love_ was meant throughout, and he knew how to answer _that_. So he patted Meg’s cheeks and kissed her lips. And now as the long-lingering light of day stole into that wretched attic-chamber, it brought out strange pictures. The yellow rays of the sun, striking obliquely through the window in the roof, fell upon the corner occupied by Meg and Lenny, and lighted up a picturesque group,—the beautiful, golden-haired, blue-eyed baby-boy, fair as one of Rafael’s pictured angels, with his rosy arms clasped around the neck of the wild, dark, gipsyish girl, who held him on her lap; and their surroundings,—the poor pallet, the little stone-jug of milk, the bare boards, and the broken walls. This was the only sunny scene in the room. In the shadows were other scenes, best left in darkness,—the beldam in her foul bed, and the two men sprawling on the naked floor. All these were dead to all surrounding life, for they were heavily sleeping off the effects of the last night’s gin-drinking. To return to the “sunny” spot occupied by the girl and the baby. She was still caressing him. “Would Lenny like his breakfast now?” she asked. “Yes, Lenny like breakfas’. But go in baf-tub first.” “Go—where?” inquired the girl, quite bewildered. “In baf-tub! baf-tub! baf-tub! wash!” “Oh, bath-tub! My bonny bird, we have got no bath-tub here, but ‘Met’ will wash you clean—will she?” “Yes, Met wash.” “Will Lenny be afraid to stay here while ‘Met’ goes to fetch water?” “’Faid? what ’faid?” “You don’t know? Well, I hope you never will.” “What ’faid? what ’faid? what ’faid?” peremptorily demanded this despotic little inquisitor. “’Faid is—bad, naughty,” said Meg, after some little perplexity. “No, Lenny not ’faid.”