readily supplied; Mr. Byass was no farther away, at present, than St. Albans. Forth into the street again, and in search of a policeman. “Will you please to tell me what station I have to go to for St. Albans?” Why, Moorgate Street would do; only a few minutes’ walk away. On she hastened. “What is the cost of a return ticket to St. Albans, please?” Three-and-sevenpence. Back into the street again; she must now look for a certain sign, indicating a certain place of business. With some little trouble it is found; she enters a dark passage, and comes before a counter, upon which she lays—a watch, her grandfather’s old watch. “How much?” “Four shillings, please.” She deposits a halfpenny, and receives four shillings, together with a ticket. Now for St. Albans.
Sam! Sam! Ay, well might he turn red and stutter and look generally foolish when that quiet little girl stood before him in his “stock-room” at the hotel. Her words were as quiet as her look. “I'll write her a letter,” he cries. “Stop; you shall take it back. I can’t give up the job at once, but you may tell her I’m up to no harm. Where’s the pen?
