the Four Courts. He had paid one or two visits on his way, so that he did not reach Fitzwilliam Place till past five o'clock. He let himself in with a latchkey, as he always did. The gas was lighted in the hall, and he walked slowly upstairs to the drawingroom, thinking how lonely and quiet the house felt as he did so.

"I declare," he said to himself, "I will buy a dog; a dog is a great companion for a man who has no other. It is something to be glad to see you when you come home in the evening, and it runs out and wags its tail, and jumps on you, and gives you a welcome. I really think I shall buy a dog.”

He entered the large, handsome, lonely-looking drawing-room. He never allowed the gas in it to be lighted till he was at home, and not then till he rang the bell and ordered it. The heavy black and gold curtains were drawn before the windows, and the fire only wanted to be stirred to make a cheerful blaze, but Mr. Burke did not lift the poker for that purpose: he began to walk up and down the room in the dim light given by the unstirred fire, as was his custom when he had any difficult business matter to think about. He never believed that he could think as well in the light as he could in the dark, and just now he had a very interesting case to consider as a barrister, in which he had to give an opinion, and he had not yet made up his mind what his opinion about it was, so he walked up and down the room, deep in thought.

What was that noise he heard? Everything was so still around him-for Fitzwilliam Place is very quiet, and he was so busy with his case that he was attending to nothing else-when suddenly he became aware that there was a very odd little noise in the room. It was just exactly like some living creature breathing.

"Why, that dog I was intending to buy can't have presented himself to me," he said, laughing. "What shall I fancy next? I could declare there was something breathing in the room with me." But he continued his walking up and down, up and down, and endeavoured to go back to the train of thought that had been interrupted.

In vain. There it was again, and he could not mistake it. Something breathing softly, deeply, regularly, and then a little light sound of a deeper breath, almost resembling a very minute snore.

He looked round him, quite bewildered, almost feeling as if he were dreaming, and then he walked straight up to the windows-there were two facing the street-and pulling aside the heavy black and gold curtains, peered behind them. There was nothing there-indeed, I cannot say that he had expected to find anything, but if there was anything to look for he did not know where to look except

behind the curtains, and there was something breathing somewhere.

Then he went to the fire-place, took the poker, and poked up the bank of coal, black outside and fiery red within, till it blazed up into a mighty blaze, shedding a brilliant, if flickering, radiance through the whole apartment.

And what do you think he saw then?

A little girl of three, or perhaps four years old, curled up in his own great arm-chair fast asleep! At first he could hardly believe his eyes, and rubbed them to see whether, when he looked again, he should find it was they that had deceived him.

Not at all; there was the child, fast asleep, and seeming just as cool and comfortable as if the whole place belonged to her, and not to him. Then he did not know what to do.

He had no experience of children, but something told him that when a baby was asleep-and this sweet little fair lady was scarcely more than a baby— it was better not to wake her; but let her have her sleep out. So he turned round and began to walk very softly away, when something else caught his eyes which again amazed them.

This was a black trunk standing by the chair where the child lay asleep, of the kind that used to be called overland portmanteaus, because they were first made when people began to travel over the land and through different countries to India, instead of sailing there all the way in a ship.

'So she has taken possession of the house, and brought her things with her," he thought, laughing quietly to himself at the oddness and absurdity of the whole thing. "Of course it is some mistake. I wonder whether the servants can explain it?"

So he continued his tiptoe walk to the door of the room, and then, running downstairs, rang the dining-room bell violently.

"What is the meaning of all this, Larry?" he cried. "Who is the child upstairs? and why is she here?"

"Shure an' it's glad I am that yer honour's come home to tell us, for it's puzzled intirely that Bridget and meeself is; an' Bridget, she says she won't stay in the house at all at all if there are to be childer in it."

"Children in the house! What nonsense! How could there be? But tell me all about it, Larry. Who brought the child here? and what does it mean? She has a trunk with her."

"That's it," replied the butler, shaking his head. "It's by the writin' on the box that they brought her here; an' it was a sailor man left her who had not much English to spake of, an' who said he'd call agin in the evenin' for the reward."

"For the reward! Are you dreaming, Larry?

What reward can the man expect for leaving a child here except a good thrashing for his impudence?" "Deed, there's not a man in Ireland fitter to give it him thin than yer honour, an' much good may it do him; but that's just what he said, an' no other." “The writing on the box," repeated Mr. Burke, who had hardly attended to the words when they were spoken, but remembered them now with the hope that they might throw some light on the matter. "The writing on the box. Well, I can see what that is, at any rate, and perhaps find out from that where the child ought to have been taken to." So he went upstairs again, and by the firelight read the direction on the box. But the box seemed to have been a good deal battered and knocked about, and part of the piece of paper that had been pasted on it to have the direction written on had been torn or washed off; there was no name it was the upper piece that was gone; but to his great surprise he found that what was left was the right address of his house-the number, and the street, and the city-" No, Fitzwilliam Place, Dublin."

He had not the least expected to find this, so he was a good deal startled. The trunk, then, had been meant to come to him, whatever the child may have been. Why had the address with his name been torn away? What could it all mean?

Just at that moment the little girl moved, uncurled her legs, sat upright, and awoke.

She was small and fat and fair, with flaxen hair curling all over her head. She had a bright colour, and large surprised blue eyes, that looked straight at Mr. Burke, as if she expected him to tell her all about it. She was a very pretty child, and she was dressed in a little embroidered nankeen pelisse, and a straw hat trimmed with white ribbon lay on the ground by her side, where she had thrown it before she fell asleep.

Mr. Burke was so unaccustomed to children that he felt quite shy and rather afraid of this little stranger. He had a notion that children roared about everything, and if this child began to roar he had not the least idea what he should do. He rather thought he should take to his heels and run away.

The little girl, however, did not seem to have any idea of roaring; nor did she appear at all shy or afraid of Mr. Burke, whatever his feelings towards her might be. On the contrary, she, as I said before, stared full at him with her big blue eyes, smiled very sweetly, showing a nice little mouthful of white teeth like sugar-plums as she did so, and said in a pretty lisping voice, "I want my supper."

Then she leaned back in the chair and made

herself extremely comfortable, shrugging her little shoulders up to her ears, and crossing her little fat legs to her great inconvenience, as a man might cross his long ones for ease, and called out with a

chuckling laugh, "Now I'm pap-pa!"

"What would you like for supper?" asked Mr. Burke rather timidly, and regarding her somewhat as a man might regard some little unknown wild animal of whose habits he was ignorant, and who had been suddenly introduced into his drawing

room.

"Jam!" replied the young lady, without an instant's hesitation.

Mr. Burke thought jam was rather an odd and unsatisfactory supper, but he supposed it was all right.

"If she doesn't know, who should?" he reasoned to himself. "Dogs, horses, all animals know by instinct what they should eat, why not children? And I have often noticed that they seem sticky."

So he rang the bell, and when his factotum Bridget appeared, he said, as calmly as he could, "Bridget, this little girl wants her supper. Bring some jam, please."

But if he was calm, Bridget was not. First she stared at him in mute amazement, and then she spoke.

From the moment she entered the room, the child had drawn her pretty golden brows together, while her blue eyes pecred doubtfully from under them. She had given her command for jam without hesitation to the man, but she was doubtful whether the woman would carry it out.

"An' were ye expectin' her thin?" cried Bridget, more in the manner of a mistress than a servant a manner which the housekeepers of single gentlemen do sometimes acquire. "An' were ye expectin' her, and never tould me one single word about it? an' ye might have knocked me down wid a feather when the queer man handed her in."

"I was not expecting her," replied Mr. Burke, rather crossly. "I have no more idea who she is or why she's here than you have; but I suppose she must be-fed?"

And he looked rather helplessly from the child to the woman, and from the woman to the child.

"Fed, is it? An' was it to feed the likes of her I took service with yer? It's either she or I must go, thin, for the house won't hold us both, it will not."

voice, as if the next sound that came from it might be a cry.

Bridget looked steadily at her.

"An' shure she is a purty one!" she cried, her face breaking out into smiles. "It's yer supper ye want, darlin', is it? Wait a minute, an' Bridget will bring it you."

Mr. Burke was inexpressibly relieved. If Bridget were amenable he was quite sure all would go well.

she ought to be sent ; and as for the jam, Bridget, she asked for it herself."

Bridget gave a little laugh at that.

"If you give childer all they ask for, sir," she said confidentially, "there would not be many of them left at the end of the year, maybe. Lave her to me, if yer plase," with a little wave of the hand, "an' I'll do her justice."

"I want my supper," reiterated the young lady.

A little jam in a saucer will not be much trouble," he said soothingly.

"Is it jam in a saucer?" she cried, with supreme contempt in her voice. "Shure it's good breadan'-milk I'll make, with the sugar in it. Jam in a saucer is no supper at all at all for a Christian child. Leave the darlin' to me, sir, an' we'll keep her and take care of her."

"Keep her!" cried he, almost angrily. "I have nothing on earth to do with her. She is brought here by mistake, and the man who left her, Larry said, is coming back this evening, and then we shall find out what it means, and send her wherever

she did this, and puffing out her rosy cheeks, blew through her puckered lips.

"What a very extraordinary little creature it is!" thought the poor master of the house, as he watched her with anxious eyes.

"I'm the cap'n!" she said suddenly, and then burst out laughing.

The captain; yes, of course she was. Then he saw exactly what she was about. She was walking the quarter-deck. And it was a foreign sailor man, Larry said, had left her here. She had come a voyage; she had crossed over the wide blue seas and not merely the narrow channel that divides Ireland from England-before she had been left at his door. Captains don't walk the quarter-deck so as to catch the observation of children during those voyages that last only a few hours. She was fresh from a long voyageshe had come from another quarter of the globe. The quarter-deck is that portion of the deck of a ship which belongs to the first-class passengers and the officers, and the habit of turning when walking up and down a room, just as this baby had turned, may be noticed in naval officers at home.

"Come here, little girl," said Mr. Burke, holding out his hand to her.

She ran up gladly to him at once, without shyness or fear.

"Tell me what is your name? what are you called?"

"A pretty little girl," was the instant reply. "Pap-pa's darling."

"Well-but you have a name, I suppose? Are you Jane, or Anne, or Margaret, or what?"

"I not Jane, or Anne, or Margaret," she replied, with some indignation; "I'm Rose."

"Oh, you are Rose, are you?" said he. "Yes. Rose--little Rosebud," she answered simply. "Take Rose up on your knee."

And she began trying to hitch herself up, the action suiting the word.

Mr. Burke lifted her on his knee, where she settled herself most comfortably, and then pouted up her pretty lips towards his, and said, with the air of a queen offering a reward to a subject, “Me kiss you."

He kissed her cheerfully, and putting his arm round her, drew her towards him.

She nestled up against him, burrowing her flaxen head into his waistcoat, and then playing with his watch-chain.

"Tell me a story," she said to him confidingly.

Tell her a story! What could he tell her a story about? What interest would she take in anything that interested him?

"Tell me one," he replied coaxingly. "Tell me how little Rose came here."

"Rose came in a big, big ship, sailing, sailing over the sea. Pap-pa put me in it. When'll pap-pa come?" she added quickly, and put up her lip as if ready to cry.

"Oh, very soon indeed," said Mr. Burke, considerably alarmed at the prospect of tears. " Was

it pap-pa left you here, and is he coming back for you?"

"Pap-pa at home. The sailor brought me here. Don't you know sailors? Sailors are so kind. Oh, me got so very wet, and went in little, little boat, not in the nice big ship; and me was so hungry and thirsty, and got no dinner and no supper. Poor little me!"

"Poor little Rose!" repeated Mr. Burke, fondling her, and quite astonished to find how comfortable he felt with little Rose on his knee nestling herself up against him.

And can you tell me nothing more-nothing more at all? Who was in the big ship with Rosie?"

"The cap'en was there, and he gave me cakes and sweeties. Don't you love the cap'en?" "And was mamma there?"

"Oh, no, not mamma; she wasn't there. Nursey was."

"And where is nursey now?"

"Nursey wasn't in the little, little shaking naughty boat-nursey didn't come out of the big ship at all. The sailor men took a great jump with Rose into the sea, and held me up in the big waves, and they went over me, and me touldn't see."

Then Rose did not seem disposed to chatter any more, or to answer any more of the questions Mr. Burke asked her.

"I'll slide on your foot," he said, and slipping down his leg, seated herself astride on the foot that happened to be crossed over his knee.

"Faster! faster!" she cried, jogging herself up and down to show him what he was to do. "Stupid horse! lazy horse! I'll beat you. Go on, go on!"

And Mr. Burke found himself obliged to dance his leg up and down, with the little maiden on it, with a rapidity, and at last a vehemence, that almost put him out of breath.

Then she climbed up the leg she had slid down, and asked him calmly whether she should stand on his shoulders or sit on his head, and on his rather hastily declining either honour, she said reproachfully and with severity, "You must play with Rose."

She rocked herself about in his arms, and sang

Rose, the minute she saw this, sat bolt upright on Mr. Burke's knee, clapped her hands, and laughed and shouted out "Oh, goody! goody!"

Bridget was rather astonished to see the attitude in which her master and the little strange child were, and how very contented they both of them seemed with it. It was a queer sight certainly, but she only said, "Now, miss dear, you come to me and I'll give you your supper."

But "miss dear" clung to her first friend, and was rather inclined to be naughty, saying, "No, no; you give me my supper-you, you-not she," pointing at Bridget with her thumb over her rebellious little white fat shoulder (which pushed itself up against Mr. Burke) in a significant, if not very elegant

manner.

"Now then, little Rose, eat your supper," he said cheerfully.

"You must feed me," was the reply, and the smooth cheek nestled more than ever into his whiskers.

What was to be done? What could he do? Nothing, it appeared to him, but obey orders. So very cautiously he filled the spoon with the nice soft, white, refreshing food, and lifted it to the pretty little lips that gaped open for it like a bird.

Miss Rose ate a hearty meal, and then she put her chubby hands together and said gravely, "Thank God for Rose's good supper."

To his own surprise the minute after he had done it, Mr. Burke kissed the flaxen head when she uttered her childish grace; but if the act astonished himself, it contained no surprise for the young lady on his knee: she was evidently quite accustomed to kisses and caresses, and took his as a matter of course.

All the time Mrs. Bridget stood by in amazement, not unmixed with delight, at this novel scene enacted in her master's drawing-room, of which that master was one of the principal characters.

"Well, to be sure! bless her pretty heart!" she murmured to herself at intervals.

"Rose very sleepy-do let me go to my nice warm bed," said the little girl at last, and slipping off Mr. Burke's knee, she knelt down, resting herself against it, and clasping her two small hands together, softly and reverently said

"Please God bless pap-pa and the cap'en, and make Rose a good little child."

66

"Pap-pa and the cap'en," that was all. Was there no one else for little Rose to love and pray for? no mother, or sister, or brother-only pap-pa and the cap'en?" Was that all? Had the little fearless, caressing, coaxing being been cared for and loved and tended only by two men-by "pap-pa and the cap'en ?"

"Now, I'll go to bed, please," cooed the sweet tiny voice; "I am so very, very sleepy."

Mr. Burke turned to Bridget in despair. "What is to be done now?" he inquired, almost piteously. 'How can she go to bed? Larry says the sailor will call again to-night, I suppose to take

66

"Deed, sir, thin, do you understand a word about it at all-either who she is or where she came from?"

"I do not, Bridget, any more than you do; it is

"Well, to be sure-dear heart alive!" murmured Bridget, and put the basin down on a little table beside him so that he might do as she wished.

"The darlin'!" was Bridget's somewhat irrelevant reply.

"Rose is so sleepy," murmured the little child. "Please, dear, put me to bed; I am so tired."