Mrs. Wilkie watched long for an opportunity, and at last she was successful. She found out where her daughter-in-law went to church, and one Sunday having learnt from one of her emissaries that both of the ladies had gone to church together, leaving the child in charge of the maid-of-all-work, she hurriedly set out for the house, and boldly ringing the door-bell inquired for Mrs. Wilkie. On being told that the lady was at church and would not return for some time she requested permission to sit down and wait, as she was fatigued with her long journey. Entering the drawing-room, she sank on one of the lounges and appeared to faint. The poor domestic did not know what to do, but ran wildly to and fro exclaiming, “Och, wirrasthru, what’ll I do at all at all’” The invalid gradually came round, and gasped out, “Dr. Metcalfe, go for Dr. Metcalfe!” This gentleman lived a few blocks distant, and the girl at once rushed off, without waiting even to put her bonnet on. Quick as thought Mrs. Wilkie ascended the staircase to where her infant grand-child lay wrapped in slumber: hastily wrapping him in a shawl she descended to the door, and coolly hailing a passing cab was soon far from the scene which had so wrought upon the feelings of poor Bridget Moriarty. When Bridget arrived with the doctor she found that the old lady had disappeared leaving, however, a card for Mrs. Wilkie. On the latter’s return Bridget told her the whole story, adding that she supposed the old lady had come to herself and got tired waiting; in time, however, the baby was missed, and that threw a new light on affairs. Mrs. Wilkie was frantic; she denounced Bridget as a good-for-nothing, refused to sit down to dinner, and set off with her mother in the direction of Mrs. Wilkie’s house. This time, however, the dowager was on her guard. The child was carefully looked after, being under the care of a faithful ally of the old lady, whose instructions were never to leave him for a moment out of her sight. Mrs. Wilkie and her mother might walk up and down and look at the lighted windows; they might also watch at a distance the youthful hope of the house of Wilkie as he took his daily airing in the park, but the trick once tried could not be repeated, and the fond mother (for whatever her faults were she loved her child) was obliged to pine in weary loneliness. During all these sieges and reprisals the little fellow waxed strong and healthy, in sublime unconsciousness of the importance attached to the possession of his person: he was by no means neglected, the only risk he ran was that of being hugged to death, as each party, more through joy at the success of its schemes than from love of the youth in question, caressed him lavishly if not fondly.