felt sad and clumsy, and made two blots, one in green on the Watkins
card, and the other in ordinary Stephens-colour on the card of one Tonk,
chocolate-box-maker, single, to whom a certain charity was obstinately
giving a half-pint of milk daily, regardless of the fact that last month
she had received a shilling's-worth of groceries from the Parish.

The air of that office rang with the name of Tonk that morning. Hardly
had the industrious Sarah Brown finished turning the blot upon her card
into the silhouette of a dromedary by a few ingenious strokes of the
pen, when the lady representing the obstinate charity came in, her lips
shaped to the word Tonk.

"Tonk," she said. "Late of Mud Street. She has changed her address. I am
the Guild of Happy Hearts. She still comes to fetch her half-pint of
milk daily, and only yesterday I learnt from a neighbour that she had
left Mud Street three weeks ago. It really is disgraceful the way these
poor people conceal important facts from us. Have you her new address?"

"Our last address for Tonk was 12 Mud Street," answered Sarah Brown
coldly. "But we have already notified you three times that the woman is
not entitled to milk from the Happy Hearts, as she has been having
parish relief, as well as an allotment."

"Tonk is--hm--hm," said the Happy Heart delicately in an undertone, so
that the blushing masculine ear of the Dog David might be spared. "After
Baby Week, you know, we feel bound to help all hm--hm women as far as we
can, regardless of other considerations--"

"Really you oughtn't to. Tonk is posing as a single
chocolate-box-maker." Sarah Brown was rapidly becoming exasperated with