do with it?"

"I must take it up to the Tower," said Mr. Dymock, "and see if my aunt
Margaret will take to it, and if she will not, why, then there are
charity schools, and poor-houses to be had recourse to; yet I don't fear
her kind heart."

"Nor I neither, Mr. Dymock," said Shanty, and the old man drew near to
the child, and holding up his lanthorn to the sleeping baby, he said,
"What like is it? Gipsy, or Jew? one or the other; those features, if
they were washed, might not disgrace Sarah or Rachel."

"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,