“The mouth and the form of the face are Grecian,” said Dymock, “but the bust is oriental.”

Shanty looked hard at his patron, as trying to understand what he meant by oriental and Grecian; and then repeated his question, “Gipsy or Jew, Mr. Dymock? for I am sure the little creature is not of our northern breed.”

“We shall see by and bye,” said Dymock, “the question is, what is to be done now?  I am afraid that aunt Margaret will look prim and stately if I carry the little one up to the Tower; however, I see not what else to do.  Who is afraid?  But put your fire out, Shanty, and come with us.  You shall carry the bantling, and I will take the lanthorn.  Mayhap, aunt Margaret may think this arrangement the more genteel of the two.  So let it be.”

And it was so; old Shanty turned into child-keeper, and the Laird into lanthorn-carrier, and the party directed their steps towards the Tower, and much talk had they by the way.

Now, as we have said before, there was a fund of kindness in the heart of Mrs. Margaret Dymock, which kindness is often more consistent than some people suppose, with attention to economy, especially when that economy is needful; and moreover, she had lately lost a favourite cat, which had been, as she said, quite a daughter to her.  Therefore the place of pet happened to be vacant just at that time, which was much in favour of the forlorn child’s interests.  Dymock had taken Shanty with him into the parlour, in which Mrs. Margaret sat at her darning; and he had suggested to the old man, that he might just as well tell the story himself for his aunt’s information, and account for the presence of the infant; and, in his own words, Mrs. Margaret took all very well, and even did not hint that if her nephew had been in his own parlour, instead of being in a place where vagrants were sheltered, he would at all events have been out of this scrape.  But the little one had awoke, and had begun to weep, and the old lady’s heart was touched, so she called one of the maids, and told her to feed the babe and put it to sleep; after which, having ordered that Shanty should be regaled with the bladebone of a shoulder of mutton, she withdrew to her room to think what was next to be done.

The result of Mrs. Margaret’s thoughts were, that come what might, the child must be taken care of for a few days, and must be washed and clothed; and, as the worthy lady had ever had the habit of laying by, in certain chests and boxes piled on each other in her large bed-room, all the old garments of the family not judged fitting for the wear of cottagers, she had nothing more to do than, by the removal of half-a-dozen trunks, to get at a deal box, which contained the frocks, and robes, and other garments which her nephew had discarded when he put on jacket and trousers.  From these she selected one of the smallest suits, and they might have been seen airing at the kitchen fire by six o’clock that morning.  Hot water