He dashed straight to where the little boy lay, swept him up in his arms, and then, with me close at his heels, was rushing straight for the outlet of the court, which, thank Heaven! was there, close at hand.

Next moment we were standing in the street which led to Beadle Square.

It all took less time to accomplish than it takes to write, and once out of that awful court we could hardly tell whether we were awake or dreaming.

The boy, however, in Jack's arms settled that question.

"Come on, quick!" said Smith, starting to run again. "They'll be out after us."

We hurried on until we were in Beadle Square.

"What's to be done?" I asked.

"We must take him in with us," said Jack. "Look at the state he's in."

I did look. The little fellow, who seemed about eight years old, was either stunned by his last blow or had fainted. His face, save where the blood trickled down, was deadly pale, and as his head with its shock of black hair lay back on Jack's arm, it seemed as if he could not look in worse plight were he dead.

"We must take him with us," said Jack.

"What will Mrs Nash say?" was my inward e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, as we reached the door.

All the lights were out. We knocked twice, and no one came. Here was a plight! Locked out at this hour of night, with a half-dead child in our charge!

"Knock again," said Jack.

I _did_ knock again, a wonderful knock, that must have startled the cats for a mile round, and this time it called up the spirit we wished for.

There was a flicker of a candle through the keyhole, and a slipshod footstep in the hall, which gave us great satisfaction. Mrs Nash opened the door.

At the sight of our burden, the abuse with which she was about to favour us faded from her lips as she gazed at us in utter amazement.

"Why, what's all this? eh, you two? What's this?" she demanded.

"I'll tell you," said Jack, entering with his burden; "but I say, Mrs Nash, can't you do something for him? Look at him!"

Mrs Nash was a woman, and whatever her private opinion on the matter generally may have been; she could not resist this appeal. She took the little fellow out of Jack's arms, and carried him away to her own kitchen, where, after sponging his bruised face and forehead, and giving him a drop of something in a teaspoon, and brushing back his matted hair and loosing his ragged jacket at the neck, she succeeded in restoring him to his senses. It was with a thrill of relief that we saw his eyes open and a shade of colour come into his grimy cheeks.

"What have you been doing to him?" said Mrs Nash.

"He was being knocked about," said Jack, modestly, "and Batchelor and I got him away."

"And what are you going to do with him?" inquired Mrs Nash, who, now that her feminine offices were at an end, was fast regaining her old crabbedness.

"He'd better go to bed," said Smith. "I'll have him in my bed."

"No, you won't!" said Mrs Nash, decisively.

"We can't turn him out at this time of night," said I.

"Can't help that. He don't sleep here, the dirty little wretch."

"He'll be murdered if he goes back," said Jack.

"That's no reason I should have my house made not fit to live in," said Mrs Nash.

"He won't do any harm, I'll see to that," said Smith, rising and taking the boy up in his arms.

"I tell you I ain't going to allow it," said Mrs Nash.

But Jack without another word carried off his burden, and we heard his footsteps go slowly up the stairs to the bedroom. I stayed for some little time endeavouring to appease Mrs Nash, but without much effect.

She abandoned her first idea of rushing out and defending the cleanliness of her house by force of arms, but in place of that relieved herself in very strong language on the subject of Jack Smith generally, and of me in aiding and abetting him, and ended by announcing that she gave us both warning, and we might look-out for somebody else to stand our impudence (she called it "imperence"), for _she_ wouldn't.

When I went up stairs Jack and his small _protege_ were in bed and asleep. I was quite startled when I caught sight of their two heads side by side on the pillow. It looked for all the world like a big Jack and a little Jack.

"Wouldn't Jack be flattered if I told him so!" thought I.

I was not long in following their example. All night long I dreamt of Flanagan and that dreadful court, and of those two heads lying there side by side in the next bed.

When I awoke in the morning it was very early and not yet light. I soon discovered that what had aroused me was a conversation going on in the next bed.

"Go on! you let me be!" I heard a shrill voice say.

"Hush! don't make a noise," said Jack. "I'll take you home in the morning all right."

"I ain't done nothink to you," whined the boy.

"I know. No one's going to hurt you."

"You let me be, then; do you 'ear?" repeated the boy. "What did you fetch me 'ere for?"

"You were nearly being killed last night," said Jack.

"You're a lie, I worn't," was the polite answer.

"Yes you were," said Jack. "A woman was nearly murdering you."

"That was my old gal--'tain't no concern of yourn."

Evidently there was little use expecting grat.i.tude out of this queer specimen of mortality; and Jack didn't try.

"You stay quiet and go to sleep, and I'll give you some breakfast in the morning," he said to his graceless little bed-fellow.

"You ain't a-going to take me to the station, then?" demanded the latter.

"No."

"Or the workus?"

"No."