sash--a beauty, too--I don't happen to have any little sisters with me,"
feeling of the outside of his pockets, peering into his pack, and even
taking off the great cap and shaking it as if a little girl _might_ be
folded up in that. "No, really I haven't a little sister about me, but
don't you cry; I'll bring one round to-morrow--and now I must be picking
up these brothers--where are they?"

"Baby Willie is in the back-yard in his carriage and Johnny and Harry
are playing _fooneral_ with him," said she, gravely.

"But that wasn't all; don't cheat me, little girl!" frowned the big
freckled-faced man.

"No! I wasn't going to--Tommy--he's in the yard round the corner there
with the big boys--he's 'leven--he's my greatest brother--he's a drefful
wicked boy--" Molly was going on with the bean-story very likely, but
at that moment the funeral procession of a baby carriage and two
followers filed up.

The great man darted forward, seized three-year-old Johnny and Harry in
his arms, stuffed one head-first, the other legs-first, into the
monstrous pack.

The one that went in head-first had his fat legs left dangling; the one
that went in legs-first, his head sticking out.

The baby went into one of his deep pockets where his screams were
stifled.

This was the work of a second and the man hurried out of sight, saying