In his heart of hearts the pawnbroker, although not in the main an ill-natured man, was for the moment mad with himself for having taken Mr. Loveday into his confidence. If he had kept the matter to himself, he might, failing all other ways of getting rid of the encumbrance, have deposited it on a doorstep in such a manner and at such a time that it could not fail to come under the notice of a policeman, who, in the exercise of his duty, could not have allowed it to remain there. It was a warm night, the child was strong and healthy, and was sleeping comfortably; it could scarcely have taken cold. But this proceeding was not open to him now that Mr. Loveday was in possession of the particulars. "They wouldn't take it in at the workhouse," said Mr. Loveday. "Why not? They've a better right to it than I have." "It would have to be proved that it belonged to the parish. It is such a queer story, you see." "Do you mean to say it wouldn't be believed?" "I can't hazard an opinion. Suppose you call your wife down, and ask her to take care of it till you find out something about it." "What!" cried the unhappy pawnbroker, "I should have the house pulled over my ears." Mr. Loveday shrugged his shoulders. Not that he was indifferent; the adventure was so novel that it interested him; but he could not exactly tell what could be done. "After all," he said, "it may be as I suggested, a joke. The person who left it here will probably call for it presently. Wait awhile." "I must, I suppose, but I shall go crazy if I'm left alone with it. Do a charity, and smoke a pipe with me." "I don't smoke, but I'll keep you company for half an hour. Before that time the mystery may be solved." But though they waited up till two o'clock there were no further developments. There they sat, for the most part in silence, and there lay the baby in his shawl, sleeping soundly and placidly. At length Mr. Loveday rose and said he must go. The pawnbroker began to implore again. "You're a single man; you've got no one to take care of but yourself; I've got six children of my own to look after. Take it home with you and give it a bed." "No, no," said Mr. Loveday, laughing, "I couldn't think of such a thing. If I were a woman--perhaps; or if I had a female housekeeper in my house. The child needs a woman's care, and your wife is at hand." The pawnbroker groaned. He heard a policeman's footsteps outside, and in his despair he called him in and repeated his story. The policeman listened gravely, threw the light of his dark lantern on the sleeping child. "I don't see what I can do," he said. "I give it into custody," cried the pawnbroker. "What's the charge?" asked the policeman. The pawnbroker wrung his hands. Finally the policeman departed, recommending the pawnbroker, before he left, to follow Mr. Loveday's advice and call down his wife. Mr. Loveday also went home, and the pawnbroker was left alone with his new and startling responsibility.