"Let us find some place to sit down and have a drink," suggested Mason. "No, father," said John, with a frank smile. "Neither of us takes drink. Come home with us. We have a room ready for you." "I have lodgings----" "You can go there to-morrow, and get your belongings." "Yes. Jump into this cab," urged Willie. "We live in Westminster. It is not very far." Mason was fascinated by the boys' pleasant assumption of authority. They spoke like young gentlemen, with the accent that betokens a good education. He yielded without a protest. They sat three abreast in a hansom, and the vehicle scurried off toward the Westminster Bridge Road. Mason was in the center. His giant form leaned over the closed doors of the cab, but he turned his head with interested eagerness as one or other of his sons addressed him. "I suppose, father, you are wondering how we came to meet in such a place," said John. "It might puzzle me if I found time to think." "Well, the superintendent arranged everything. Unfortunately, he was away on his holidays when--when you were released--or we would have met you then, and his deputy was not aware of the circumstances. As soon as the superintendent returned he wrote to the governor, and was very much annoyed to find that you had slipped away in the meantime." "He wouldn't be so annoyed if he was there himself," growled Mason, good-humoredly. "Oh, John didn't mean that, father," broke in Willie. "The annoyance was his, and ours. You see, we had not known very long where you were. We didn't even know you were alive." "Of course, of course. Somebody has been looking after you well. That's clear enough. They wouldn't be always telling a pair of boys that their father was in Portland." "It gave us such a shock when we heard the truth," said downright John. "But we were so glad to hear that our father was living, and that we should soon see him," explained the younger. "When did you hear first?" "About four months ago. Just before we took our present situations. We are saddlers and ornamental leather workers. Between us we earn quite a decent living. Don't we, John?" "In fifteen weeks we have saved enough to pay for half our furniture, besides keeping ourselves well. There's plenty to eat, dad. You won't starve, big as you are." They all laughed. The cab was passing St. Thomas' Hospital. Across the bridge a noble prospect met their eyes. London had a glamour for Mason that night it never held before. "So Robinson wrote to Bradley, knowing that I would report myself to-day, and Bradley arranged----" "Who is Robinson, father?" interrupted John. "The superintendent, to be sure. He used to be inspector at Whitechapel." "He is not the man we mean. We are talking of Mr. Giles, superintendent of the Mary Anson Home."