“I do not think it would injure you to change your—­course of life, nor yet your way of mentioning it,” I said, feeling my way cautiously.  “But—­we are bidden to remember there is more joy in heaven over one sinner saved than over the ninety-and-nine just men.”

“Is that so?  Well, it listens like good horse-sense to me,” said Mr. Flint, promptly.  “Because, look here:  you can rake in ninety-and-nine boobs any old time—­there’s one born every time the clock ticks, parson—­but they don’t land something like me every day, believe me!  And I bet you a stack of dollar chips a mile high there was some song-and-dance in the sky-joint when they put one over on you for fair.  Sure!” He puffed away at his pipe, and I, having nothing to say to this fine reasoning, held my peace.

“Parson, that kid’s a swell, too, ain’t she?  And the boy?”

“Laurence is the son of Judge Hammond Mayne.”

“And the little girl?” Insensibly his voice softened.

“I suppose,” I agreed, “that the little girl is what you might call a swell, too.”

“I never,” said he, reflectively, “came what you might call talking close to real swells before.  I’ve seen ’em, of course—­at a distance.  Some of ’em, taking ’em by and large, looked pretty punk, to me; some of ’em was middling, and a few looked as if they might have the goods.  But none of ’em struck me as being real live breathing people, same as other folks.  Why, parson, some of those dames’d throw a fit, fancying they was poisoned, if they had to breathe the same air with folks like me—­me being what I am and they being—­what they think they are.  Yet here’s you and Madame, the real thing—­and the boy—­and the little girl—­the little girl—­” he stopped, staring at me dumbly, as the vision of Mary Virginia rose before him.

“She is, indeed, a dear, dear child,” said I. His words stung me somewhat, for once upon a time, I myself would have resented that such as he should have breathed the same air with Mary Virginia.

“I’d almost think I’d dreamed her,” said he, thoughtfully, “that is, if I was good enough to have dreams like that,” he added hastily, with his first touch of shame.  “I’ve seen ’em from the Battery up, and some of ’em was sure-enough queens, but I didn’t know they came like this one.  She’s bran-new to me, parson.  Say, you just show me what she wants me to help you with, and I’ll do it.  She seems to think I can, and it oughtn’t to be any harder than opening a time-vault, ought it?”

“No,” said I gravely, “I shouldn’t think it would be.  Though I never opened a time-vault, you understand, and I hope and pray you’ll never touch one again, either.  I’d rather you wouldn’t even refer to it, please.  It makes me feel, rather—­well, let’s say particeps criminis.”