"Don't quarrel with her, Debby. She has written you a very nice letter, asking you to go down to Mrs. Krill's house in Kensington, and she really wants to see you before she goes back to Christchurch to-night." "Well, I'll go," said Deborah, suddenly; "but I don't like leavin' you all by your own very self, my sunflower." "I'll be all right, Debby. Paul comes at four o'clock, and you'll be back at five." "Sooner, if me an' Matilder don't hit if orf, or if we hit each other, which, knowin' 'er 'abits, I do expects. But Bart's out till six, and there won't be anyone to look arter them as washes--four of 'em," added Mrs. Tawsey, rubbing her nose, "and as idle as porkpines." "Mrs. Purr can look after them." "Look arter gin more like," said Deborah, contemptuously. "She's allays suckin', sly-like, tryin' to purtend as it's water, as if the smell didn't give it away, whatever the color may be. An' here she is, idling as usual. An' may I arsk, Mrs. Purr ma'am," demanded Deborah with great politeness, "wot I pays you fur in the way of ironin'?" But Mrs. Purr was too excited to reply. She brushed past her indignant mistress and faced Sylvia, waving a dirty piece of paper. "Lor', miss," she almost screamed, "you do say as you want t'know where that limb Tray 'ave got to--" "Yes--yes," said Sylvia, rising, "he escaped from Mr. Hurd, and we want to find him very much." "It's a letter from 'im," said Mrs. Purr, thrusting the paper into Sylvia's hand; "tho' 'ow he writes, not 'avin' bin to a board school, I dunno. He's in a ken at Lambith, and ill at that. Want's me t'go an' see 'im. But I can't leave the ironin'." "Yuss y' can," said Deborah, suddenly; "this erringd is ness'ary, Mrs. Purr ma'am, so jes' put on your bunnet, an' go to Mr. Hurd as 'as 'is orfice at Scotlan' Yard, and take 'im with you." "Oh! but I couldn't--" "You go," advised Mrs. Tawsey. "There's five pounds offered for the brat's bein' found." "Five pun!" gasped Mrs. Purr, trembling. "Lor', and me 'avin' a chanct of gittin' it. I'll go--I'll go. I knows the Yard, 'avin' 'ad summat to do with them dirty perlice in my time. Miss Sylvia--" "Yes, go, Mrs. Purr, and see Mr. Hurd. He'll give you the five pounds if you take him to Tray." Sylvia handed back the paper. "Tray seems to be ill." "Ill or well, he sha'n't lose me five pun, if I 'ave to drag 'im to the lock-up m'self," said Mrs. Purr, resolutely. "Where's my bunnet--my shawl--oh lor'--five pun! Them is as good allays gits rewards," and she hurried out, hardly able to walk for excitement. "There's a nice ole party fur you, Miss Sylvia?" "Debby," said the girl, thoughtfully. "You take her to the Yard to see Mr. Hurd, and then go to Kensington to speak with your sister." "Well, I'll go, as importance it is," said Mrs. Tawsey, rubbing her nose harder than ever. "But I 'opes you won't be lone, my poppet-dovey."