ushered them into a large hall. It was thronged with a crowd of dirty
and raggedly-dressed people, and partitioned off by a handsome and
massive mahogany counter, beyond which sat a staff of clerks busily
engaged in keeping the books and generally discharging the duties of
the institution.

[Illustration]

"Ha, Mrs. MACSTOGGINS, and are we in your debt again?" asked the Agent
of a beetle-browed woman of a sinister and forbidding expression, who
was thrusting a paper across the counter to the cashier.

"Yes; and I'll trouble you not to keep me waiting, either--seeing that
it's gone three days since the burial."

"Is this woman demanding the insurance money for the burial of her own
child?" asked _Mr. Punch_, sternly. And he turned his ring. "And pray,
Madam," he continued, addressing the beetle-browed woman, "tell me the
truth."

"Certainly," replied the woman, as if in a trance. "First, I insured
my own KATE--then I starved her to death, and took the money. Then
little BILL followed. I let him catch cold in the winter, and gave
him a night or two on the stones, and that finished him. Then came TIM
FLAHERTY, and I managed him with the beetle-poison, and--"

"Come," said _Mr. Punch_, taking Father TIME's arm once more; "let us
get out of this--I can't breathe here."

Scarcely had they quitted the place ere they had to encounter an