Now the late Mr. Gullick had been a clown of considerable merit; but, like too many artists, he was addicted beyond measure to convivial enjoyment. Maitland had befriended him in his last days, and had appointed Mrs. Gullick (and a capital appointment it was) to look after his property when he became landlord of the _Hit or Miss_. “What a gift, sir, that child always had! Why, when she was no more than four, I well remember her going to fetch the beer, and her being a little late, and Gullick with the thirst on him, when she came in with the jug, he made a cuff at her, not to hurt her, and if the little thing didn’t drop the jug, and take the knap! Lord, I thought Gullick would ‘a died laughing, and him so thirsty, too.” “Take the knap?” said Maitland, who imagined that “the knap” must be some malady incident to childhood. “Oh, sir, it’s when one person cuffs at another on the stage, you know, and the other slaps his own hand, on the far side, to make the noise of a box on the ear: that’s what we call ‘taking the knap’ in the profession. And the beer was spilt, and the jug broken, and all--Lizer was that clever? And this is her second season, just ended, as a himp at the _Hilarity_ pantermime; and they’re that good to her, they let her bring her bearskin home with her, what she wears, you know, sir, as the Little Bear in ‘The Three Bears,’ don’t you know, sir.” Maitland was acquainted with the legend of the Great Bear, the Middle Bear, and the Little Tiny Small Bear, and had even proved, in a learned paper, that the Three Bears were the Sun, the Moon, and the Multitude of Stars in the Aryan myth. But he had not seen the pantomime founded on the traditional narrative. “But what was the child saying about a big Bird?” he asked. “What was it that frightened her?” “Oh, sir, I think it was just tiredness, and may be, a little something hot at that supper last night; and, besides, seeing so many queer things in pantermimes might put notions in a child’s head. But when she came home last night, a little late, Lizer was very strange. She vowed and swore she had seen a large Bird, far bigger than any common bird, skim over the street. Then when I had put her to bed in the attic, down she flies, screaming she saw the Bird on the roof. I had hard work to get her to sleep. To-day I made her lay a-bed and wear her theatre pantermime bearskin, that fits her like another skin--and she’ll be too big for it next year--just to keep her warm in that cold garret. That’s all about it, sir. She’ll be well enough in a day or two, will Lizer.” “I am sure I hope she will, Mrs. Gullick,” said Maitland; “and, as I am passing his way, I will ask Dr. Barton to call and see the little girl. Now I must go, and I think the less we say to anyone about Miss Shields, you know, the better. It will be very dreadful for her to learn about her father’s death, and we must try to prevent Her from hearing how it happened.”