“Yes.”  Tilda described how the Doctor had shut her in his drawing-room, how she had escaped to the garden and found the boy there, and how ‘Dolph had discovered the coal-shaft for them.  “An’ then Mr. Bossom ’e ‘elped us out an’ put us across the canal.  That’s all the ’and ’e took in it.  An’ from the canal I ’urried Arthur Miles up to the Good Samaritan; but when we got there his mother was dead—­becos o’ course she must a-been his mother.  An’ so,” Tilda wound up, “I turned-to an’ adopted ‘im, an’ we came along ’ere to arsk Mr. Bossom to ’elp us.  An’ now—­if you give ’im up it ‘ll be a burnin’ shame, an’ Gawd’ll pull your leg for it.”

“That’s all very well,” said Mr. Hucks after a few moments’ thought.  “That’s all very well, missie,” he repeated, “but grown-up folks can’t take your easy way wi’ the law.  You’re askin’ me to aid an’ abet, knowin’ him to be stolen; an’ that’s serious.  If ’twas a matter between you an’ me, now—­or even between us an’ Sam Bossom.  But the devil is, these playactors have mixed themselves up in it, and the Doctor is warm on Mortimer’s scent.”

“I thought o’ that d’reckly he told me.  But O, Mr.  ’Ucks, I thought on such a neav’nly plan!” Tilda clasped hands over an uplifted knee and gazed on him.  Her eyes shone.  “They told me you was keepin’ them here for debt; but that’s nonsense, becos they can’t never pay it back till you let ’em make money.”

“A fat lot I shall ever get from Mortimer if I let him out o’ my sight.  You don’t know Mr. Mortimer.”

“Don’t I?” was Tilda’s answer.  “What d’yer take me for?  Why everybody knows what Mr. Mortimer’s like—­everybody in Maggs’s, anyway.  He’s born to borrow, Bill says; though at Hamlet or Seven Nights in a Bar-Room he beats the band.  But as I said to his wife, ‘Why shouldn’ Mr.  ‘Ucks keep your caravan against what you owe, an’ loan you a barge?  He could put a man in charge to look after your takin’s, so’s you wouldn’ get out o’ reach till the money was paid:  an’ you could work the small towns along the canal, where the shows don’t almost never reach.  You won’t want no more’n a tent,’ I said, ‘an’ next to no scenery; an’ me an’ Arthur Miles could be the Babes in the Wood or the Princes in the Tower for you, with ‘Dolph to fill up the gaps.’”

“Darn me,” said Mr. Hucks, staring, “if you’re not the cleverest for your size!”

“‘Eav’nly—­that was Mrs. Mortimer’s word for it; an’ Mr. Mortimer said ’twas the dream of ’is life, to pop—­”

“Eh?”

“It began with pop—­to pop something Shakespeare in places where they ’adn’t ’eard of ’im.  But you know ’is way.”

Mr. Hucks arose, visibly pondering.  ’Dolph, who had been keeping an eye on him, rose also, and ’Dolph’s tail worked as if attached to a steam engine.

“There’s a cargo, mostly beer, to be fetched up from Stratford,” said Mr. Hucks after a pause.  “Sam Bossom might take down the Success to Commerce for it, and he’s as well out o’ the way wi’ the rest o’ you.”