"I always knew you were a cheat, Jim Adams! You talked enough about your sister's _boy_ and you've brought a baby in petticoats." "I'm not a baby--I'm going in four," said Harry gravely, "that's a baby in there," pointing to the cradle. He crossed the room and looked curiously down at the baby, and the baby, pleased with the kind little face, laughed and threw out its arms. "Can't I have him out to play with? He likes me," cried Harry, "look, Uncle Jim, he's pulling my finger." Jim lifted out his baby and sat down, and Harry stood beside him, lost in admiration. "Well, this _is_ a nice set-out," said Jane crossly, as she looked at the happy little trio, "the first thing you do, Jim Adams, is to get that boy some breeches. _I'm_ not going to wash a lot of petticoats." She stooped and lifted Harry's frock--the little black frock that Nellie had prepared weeks ago, ready for this very time, knowing that there would be no one to buy mourning for her child. Jane examined the petticoats, and her face relaxed a little. "Humph!" she said, "they're not such bad petticoats! They'll do for baby finely. You can sell the frock, if you like, Jim Adams, _that's_ no good to me, and it will help towards the breeches." "Indeed I won't," answered Jim fiercely, "if I part with the frock, I'll _give_ it away. Who made your pretty frock, Harry, boy?" Harry looked down at himself proudly. "My mother made that," he said, "that's my bestest frock. She made it ages ago, but she wouldn't never let me wear it." Jim's eyes filled and he turned hastily to the window that Jane might not perceive it. "Don't you part with that frock, Jane," he said. Jane snorted. "Tea's ready!" she said ungraciously. The meal was about half through when she started a new subject. "Where's the brat's bed?" said she. "His bed?" repeated Jim, helplessly. "His bed," she reiterated, "I suppose you thought he'd share the baby's cradle!" Jim kept what he had thought to himself. "You must go and get one somewhere," decreed his wife. Jim rose obediently and went downstairs. In about half an hour he returned with his arms full of irons, blankets and bedding. "Here, Harry, boy," he said, "uncle's got a jolly little bed for you!" "Where did you get that?" demanded Jane. CHAPTER XV. THE LAST HOPE. Little Harry Lyon found the circumstances of his fresh life so entirely different from his old existence, that he seemed a greater stranger to himself than the most strange of those who peopled his new world. To begin with, he was, to use his aunt's own term, "breeched" the next day, and his petticoats became the big baby's property, while his precious best frock was poked unceremoniously into a box under his aunt's bed.