locked out the front way), and finding the little cobbler, and a
surrounding crowd of damp newsboys, cheering lustily for "Jinny." The
cause of that commotion was also a mystery; but, when I entered the
house, Master Moses Alphonso Butterby feebly echoed their shout of
triumph.

Under different auspices, my paternal affection might have developed
rapidly; but really, during the first few weeks of Moses Alphonso's
existence, our intercourse was so exceedingly limited I scarcely knew
him. Any intrusion within his little horizon of flannel or atmosphere of
paregoric was so severe a tax on the nerves of Mrs. Lawk, that, out of
consideration for her feelings, I rather avoided it. Indeed, had it not
been for the activity of that eminently respectable lady, I would have
fancied Moses Alphonso a brother-in-law instead of a son.

Bolted in by flannel bandages, barred with a cambric shirt, locked up in
towels, imprisoned in petticoats, and finally incarcerated in a dungeon
of wrappers and shawls,--from the first he had the appearance of an
unhappy little convict. Mrs. Lawk invariably acted as chief jailer, and,
taking him into custody, changed his various places of confinement with
the austerity of a keeper of the Tower. My own position hourly became
more ambiguous; indeed, had it not been for the monthly bills, I would
have scarcely believed myself possessed of a house at all. I impatiently
awaited the promised evacuation; and when Moses Alphonso reached his
third birthday (babies have these interesting periods monthly instead of
annually) I ventured a hint that our own furniture was ample for all
requirements.

To my despair, Mrs. Lawk had rented her house. Malinda Jane's
confinement (which in my simplicity I imagined was of short duration),