The boy seized the bread and butter like a hungry dog. Mother and the Foreman Shunter stood looking at him with queer, rather startled faces. "I never see the likes o' that, Job." "No, never," said the Foreman Shunter, solemnly. "Damn me." "What's your name, boy?" "Enry Arper, lady." "Enry what?" "Enry Arper, lady." "Could you eat a bit o' bacon, do you think?" The boy nodded with an eagerness that made the Foreman Shunter laugh. "I see nothing to laugh at, Job Lorimer," said his wife sharply. Tears had come into her eyes. She whisked them away with a corner of her apron, and then gave a sniff of remarkable violence. "And they call this a Christian land." "You never heard me call it that, Mother," said the Foreman Shunter. "More shame to you, then, Job Lorimer." "I know this," said the Foreman Shunter, speaking in a slow and decisive manner, "whatever this country is or whatever it ain't, there's as much Christianity in it as there is in that hearthrug. And there ain't a bit more." "Shut your head," said his wife. "And hand me that knife and I'll cut up this bit o' bacon for him." She took a delicately browned rasher out of a hissing, delicious smelling frying-pan on the fire, cut it into very small pieces, gave it to the boy, and told him to eat it slowly. After the boy's wants had been attended to, Mother spread a newspaper on the sofa and told him to put up his legs and rest a bit. The Foreman Shunter then passed through a door and performed wonders in the way of blowing and splashing at the scullery sink. When he reappeared his face was very red and shining and the boy was fast asleep. "I'm thinking I'll have a bite meself," said Job, with a glance at the sofa. "And then I suppose I had better take him along to the police station." Mother made no reply, but gave her husband a breakfast worthy of a foreman shunter. She then examined carefully the boy's hands and feet. "I never did see such a hobject," said she. And then with an imperious air, "I'll give him a wash, that's what I'll do." In order to carry out this resolve, she went into the scullery, filled the copper, and lit the fire. Presently the members of the family, three small boys and a smaller girl, came down to breakfast _en route_ to school. They looked wonderingly at the creature on the sofa, with great curiosity in their half frightened eyes. Their father told them sternly to keep away from it, to get on with their breakfasts, not to make a noise, and to clear off to school. "Is it a boy or a girl?" Alfie asked Johnnie, in a thrilling whisper as soon as father had retired to help Mother in the scullery. "A girl, o' course." There was some excuse for Johnnie: there was something that looked exactly like a girl in the sleeping face. The rest was hidden by the coat.