a sound and solid English coin, about which there appeared to be no
demonology or witchcraft whatsoever.

They had by this time got into Park Lane; and here the young mistress's
speculations about the mysterious messenger of Santa Claus were suddenly
cut short by something more immediate and more practical. There was a
small boy of about ten engaged in pulling a wheelbarrow which was
heavily laden with large baskets--probably containing washing; and he
was toiling manfully with a somewhat hopeless task. How he had got so
far it was impossible to say; but now that his strength was exhausted,
he was trying all sorts of ineffectual dodges--even tilting up the
barrow and endeavoring to haul it by the legs--to get the thing along.

"If I were a man," said Natalie Lind, "I would help that boy."

Then she stepped from the pavement.

"Little boy," she said, "where are you taking that barrow?"

The London _gamin_, always on the watch for sarcasm, stopped and stared
at her. Then he took off his cap and wiped his forehead; it was warm
work, though this was a chill February morning. Finally he said,

"Well, I'm agoin' to Warrington Crescent, Maida Vale. But if it's when I
am likely to git there--bust me if I know."

She looked about. There was a good, sturdy specimen of the London loafer
over at the park railings, with both hands up at his mouth, trying to
light his pipe. She went across to him.