Tilda called to 'Dolph, and the pair followed Mr. Hucks to the Counting House, where, as he turned up the lamp, he told the child to find herself a seat. She did not obey at once; she was watching the dog. But 'Dolph, it appeared, bore Mr. Hucks no malice. He walked around for thirty seconds smelling the furniture, found a rag mat, settled himself down on it, and sat wagging his tail with a motion regular almost as a pendulum's. Tilda, observing it, heaved a small sigh, and perched herself on the packing-case, where she confronted Mr. Hucks fair and square across the table. "Now you just sit there and answer me," said Mr. Hucks, seating himself and filling a pipe. "First, who's _in_ this?" "Me," answered Tilda. "Me and 'im." Mr. Hucks laid down his pipe, spread his fingers on the table, and made as if to rise. "I thought," said he, "you had more sense in you 'n an ord'nary child. Seems you have less, if you start foolin'." "I can't 'elp 'ow you take it," Tilda answered. "I got to tell you what's true, an' chance the rest. Mr. Sam Bossom, 'e gave us a 'and at the coal-'ole, an' Mr. Mortimer got mixed up in it later on; an' that's all _they_ know about it. There's nobody elst, unless you count the pore woman at the orspital, an' _she's_ dead." "That aunt of yours--is _she_ dead too?" Tilda grinned. "You've been talkin' to Glasson." "P'r'aps," suggested Mr. Hucks, after a shrewd glance at her, "you'd best tell me the story in your own way." "That's what I'd like. You see," she began, "I been laid up three weeks in 'orspital--the Good Samaritan, if you know it--along o' bein' kicked by a pony. End o' last week they brought in a woman--dyin' she was, an' in a dreadful state, an' talkin'. I ought to know, 'cos they put her next bed to mine; s'pose they thought she'd be company. All o' one night she never stopped talkin', callin' out for somebody she called Arthur. 'Seemed as she couldn' die easy until she'd seen 'im. Next day--that's yesterday--her mind was clearer, an' I arsked her who Arthur was an' where he lived, if one had a mind to fetch 'im. I got out of her that he was called Arthur Miles Surname Chandon, an' that he lived at 'Oly Innercents. So this mornin', bein' allowed out, I went down to the place an' arsked to see Arthur Miles Surname Chandon. First thing I noticed was they didn' know he was called Chandon, for Glasson took a piece o' paper an' wrote it down. I was afraid of Glasson, an' pitched that yarn about an aunt o' mine, which was all kid. I never 'ad no aunt." "What's your name, by the way?" "Tilda." "Tilda what?" "That's what they _all_ arsks," said Tilda wearily. "I dunno. If a body _can't_ do without father an' mother, I'll make up a couple to please you, same as I made up a aunt for Glasson. Maggs's Circus is where I belong to, an' there 'twas Tilda, or 'The Child Acrobat' when they billed me." "You don't look much like an acrobat," commented Mr. Hucks.