“‘You don’t mean to say, young woman,’ seshe, ’that you’re not going to Lady Hangelina:  what’s her dear boy to do? who’s to nuss it?’

“‘You nuss it, Maam,’ says I.  ’Me and Mary Hann return this momint by the Fly.’  And so (whishing her a suckastic ajew) Mrs. Jeames and I lep into a one oss weakle, and told the driver to go like mad back to Gloster.

“I can’t describe my pore gals hagny juring our ride.  She sat in the carridge as silent as a milestone, and as madd as a march Air.  When we got to Gloster she sprang hout of it as wild as a Tigris, and rusht to the station, up to the fatle Bench.

“‘My child, my child,’ shreex she, in a hoss, hot voice.  ’Where’s my infant? a little bewtifle child, with blue eyes,—­dear Mr. Policeman, give it me—­a thousand guineas for it.’

“‘Faix, Mam,’ says the man, a Hirishman, ’and the divvle a babby have I seen this day except thirteen of my own—­and you’re welcome to any one of them, and kindly.’

“‘As if his babby was equal to ours,’ as my darling Mary Hann said, afterwards.  All the station was scrouging round us by this time—­pawters & clarx and refreshmint people and all.  ’What’s this year row about that there babby?’ at last says the Inspector, stepping hup.  I thought my wife was going to jump into his harms.  ‘Have you got him?’ says she.

“‘Was it a child in a blue cloak?’ says he.

“‘And blue eyse!’ says my wife.

“’I put a label on him and sent him on to Bristol; he’s there by this time.  The Guard of the Mail took him and put him into a letter-box,’ says he:  ’he went 20 minutes ago.  We found him on the broad gauge line, and sent him on by it, in course,’ says he.  ’And it’ll be a caution to you, young woman, for the future, to label your children along with the rest of your luggage.’

“If my piguniary means had been such as once they was, you may emadgine I’d have ad a speshle train and been hoff like smoak.  As it was, we was obliged to wait 4 mortial hours for the next train (4 ears they seemed to us), and then away we went.

“‘My boy! my little boy!’ says poor choking Mary Hann, when we got there.  ‘A parcel in a blue cloak?’ says the man.  ’No body claimed him here, and so we sent him back by the mail.  An Irish nurse here gave him some supper, and he’s at Paddington by this time.  Yes,’ says he, looking at the clock, ‘he’s been there these ten minutes.’

“But seeing my poor wife’s distracted histarricle state, this good-naterd man says, ’I think, my dear, there’s a way to ease your mind.  We’ll know in five minutes how he is.’

“‘Sir,’ says she, ‘don’t make sport of me.’

“‘No, my dear, we’ll telegraph him.’

“And he began hopparating on that singlar and ingenus elecktricle inwention, which aniliates time, and carries intellagence in the twinkling of a peg-post.

“‘I’ll ask,’ says he, ‘for child marked G. W. 273.’