Not understanding the fear in the boy’s mind, Constance put her free hand down and tried to assist him; but the instant he felt her fingers, his tightened violently. “Youse guv it me,” he wailed. “Didn’t she guv it me?” he appealed desperately to the policeman. “I’m only trying to help put it in your pocket,” explained the girl. “Ah, chase youseself!” exclaimed the doubter, contemptuously. “Dat don’t go wid me. Nah!” “What doesn’t go?” bewilderedly questioned Miss Durant. “Wotcher tink youse up aginst? Suttin’ easy? Well, I guess not! Youse don’t get youse pickers in me pocket on dat racket.” “She ain’t goin’ to take none of your money!” asserted the policeman, indignantly. “Can’t you tell a real lady when you see her?” “Den let her quit tryin’ to go tru me,” protested the anxious capitalist; and Constance desisted from her misinterpreted attempt, with a laugh which died as the little fellow, at last successful in his endeavour to secrete the money, moaned again at the pain it cost him. “Shall we never get there?” she demanded impatiently, and, as if an answer were granted her, the carriage slowed, and turning, passed into a porte-cochère, in which the shoes of the horses rang out sharply, and halted. “Stay quiet a bit, mum,” advised the policeman, as he got out; and Constance remained, still supporting the urchin, until two men with a stretcher appeared, upon which they lifted the little sufferer, who screamed with pain that even this gentlest of handling cost him. Her heart wrung with sympathy for him, Miss Durant followed after them into the reception-ward. At the door she hesitated, in doubt as to whether it was right or proper for her to follow, till the sight of a nurse reassured her, and she entered; but her boldness carried her no farther than to stand quietly while the orderlies set down the litter. Without a moment’s delay the nurse knelt beside the boy, and with her scissors began slitting up the sleeves of the tattered coat. “Hey! Wotcher up to?” demanded the waif, suspiciously. “I’m getting you ready for the doctor,” said the nurse, soothingly. “It’s all right.” “Toin’t nuttin’ of de sort,” moaned the boy. “Youse spoilin’ me cloes, an’ if youse wuzn’t a loidy, you’d get youse face poked in, dat’s wot would happen to youse.” Constance came forward and laid her hand on the little fellow’s cheek. “Don’t mind,” she said, “and I’ll give you a new suit of clothes.” “Wen?” came the quick question. “To-morrow.” “Does youse mean dat? Honest? Dere oin’t no string to dis?” “Honest,” echoed the girl, heartily. Reassured, the boy lay quietly while the nurse completed the dismemberment of the ragged coat, the apology for a shirt, and the bit of twine which served in lieu of suspenders. But the moment she began on the trousers, the wail was renewed.