"I'd rather not," said Anthea.

"Let _me_ have him," said the other woman, whose face was also of the
hue of mahogany, and her hair jet-black, in greasy curls. "I've nineteen
of my own, so I have"--

"No," said Anthea bravely, but her heart beat so that it nearly choked
her.

Then one of the men pushed forward.

"Swelp me if it ain't!" he cried, "my own long-lost cheild! Have he a
strawberry mark on his left ear? No? Then he's my own babby, stolen from
me in hinnocent hinfancy. 'And 'im over--and we'll not 'ave the law on
yer this time."

He snatched the Baby from Anthea, who turned scarlet and burst into
tears of pure rage.

[Illustration: He snatched the baby from Anthea]

The others were standing quite still; this was much the most terrible
thing that had ever happened to them. Even being taken up by the police
in Rochester was nothing to this. Cyril was quite white, and his hands
trembled a little, but he made a sign to the others to shut up. He was
silent a minute, thinking hard. Then he said--

"We don't want to keep him if he's yours. But you see he's used to us.
You shall have him if you want him"--