"Then I will take it, and be accountable for it," rejoined the man. "I hope that will satisfy you!"

"Certainly," answered Clare. "You are a policeman, and that makes it all right."

"Rouse up then, and come along. I want to get home."

"Please, sir, wouldn't it do in the morning?" pleaded Clare. "I've no work now, and could easily go then. That way we should all have a sleep."

"My eye ain't green enough," replied the policeman. "Look sharp!"

Clare said no more, but went to the baby. With sinking but courageous heart, he wrapped her closer in her blanket, and took her in his arms. He could not help her crying, but she did not scream. Indeed she never really screamed; she was not strong enough to scream.

"Get along," said the policeman.

Clare led the way with his bundle, sorely incommoded by the size and weight of the wrapping blanket, the corners of which, one after the other, would keep working from his hold, and dropping and trailing on the ground. Behind him came Tommy, a scarecrow monkey, with mischievous face, and greedy beads for eyes--type not unknown to the policeman, who brought up the rear, big enough to have all their sizes cut out of him, and yet pa.s.s for a man. Down the stair they went, and out at the front door, which Clare for the first time saw open, and so by the iron gate into the street.

"Which way, please?" asked Clare, turning half round with the question.

"To the right, straight ahead. The likes o' you, young un, might know the way to the lock-up without astin'!"

Clare made no answer, but walked obedient. It was a sad procession--comical indeed, but too sad when realized to continue ludicrous. The thin, long-bodied, big-headed, long-haired, long-tailed, short-legged animal that followed last, seemed to close it with a never-ending end.

There was no moon; nothing but the gas-lamps lighted Clare's _Via dolorosa_. He hugged the baby and kept on, laying his cheek to hers to comfort her, and receiving the comfort he did not seek.

They came at last to the _lock-up_, a new building in the rear of the town-house. There this tangle of humanity, torn from its rock and afloat on the social sea, drifted trailing into a bare brilliant room, and at its head, cast down but not destroyed, went heavy-laden Clare, with so much in him, but only his misery patent to eyes too much used to misery to reap sorrow from the sight.

The head policeman--they called him the inspector--received the charge, that of house-breaking, and entered it. Then they were taken away to the lock-up--all but the faithful Abdiel, who, following, received another of the kicks which that day rained on every member of that epitome of the human family except the baby, who, small enough for a mother to drown, was too small for a policeman to kick. The door was shut upon them, and they had to rest in that grave till the resurrection of the morning should bring them before the magistrate.

Their quarters were worse than chilly--to all but the baby in her blanket manifoldly wrapped about her, and in Clare's arms. Tommy would gladly have shared that blanket, more gladly yet would have taken it all for himself and left the baby to perish; but he had to lie on the broad wooden bench and make the best of it, which he did by snoring all the night. It pa.s.sed drearily for Clare, who kept wide awake. He was not anxious about the morrow; he had nothing to be ashamed of, therefore nothing to fear; but he had baby to protect and cherish, and he dared not go to sleep.

Chapter x.x.xVII.

The magistrate.

The dawn came at last, and soon after the dawn footsteps, but they approached only to recede. When the door at length opened, it was but to let a pair of eyes glance round on them, and close again. The hours seemed to be always beginning, and never going on. But at the long last came the big policeman. To Clare's loving eyes, how friendly he looked!

"Come, kids!" he said, and took them through a long pa.s.sage to a room in the town-hall, where sat a formal-looking old gentleman behind a table.

"Good morning, sir!" said Clare, to the astonishment of the magistrate, who set his politeness down as impudence.

Nor was the mistake to be wondered at; for the baby in Clare's arms hid, with the mountain-like folds of its blanket, the greater part of his face, and the old gentleman's eyes fell first on Tommy; and if ever _scamp_ was written clear on a countenance, it was written clear on Tommy's.

"Hold your impudent tongue!" said a policeman, and gave Clare a cuff on the head.

"Hold, John," interposed the magistrate; "it is my part to punish, not yours."

"Thank you, sir," said Clare.

"I will thank _you_, sir," returned the magistrate, "not to speak till I put to you the questions I am about to put to you.--What is the charge against the prisoners?"

"Housebreaking, sir," answered the big man.

"What! Housebreaking! Boys with a baby! House-breakers don't generally go about with babies in their arms! Explain the thing."

The policeman said he had received information that unlawful possession had been taken of a building commonly known as The Haunted House, which had been in Chancery for no one could tell how many years. He had gone to see, and had found the accused in possession of the best bedroom--fast asleep, surrounded by indications that they had made themselves at home there for some time. He had brought them along.

The magistrate turned his eyes on Clare.

"You hear what the policeman says?" he said.

"Yes, sir," answered Clare.

"Well?"

"Sir?"

"What have you to say to it?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then you allow it is true?"

"Yes, sir."

"What right had you to be there?"

"None, sir. But we had nowhere else to go, and n.o.body seemed to want the place. We didn't hurt anything. We swept away a mult.i.tude of dead moths, and killed a lot of live ones, and destroyed a whole granary of grubs; and the dog killed a great rat."

"What is your name?"

"Clare--Porson," answered Clare, with a little intervening hesitation.

"You are not quite sure?"

"Yes; that is my name; but I have another older one that I don't know."

"A bad answer! The name you go by is not your own! Hum! Is that boy your brother?"

"No, sir."

"Your cousin?"

"No, sir; he's not any relation of mine. He's a tramp."

"And what are you?"