"Your mother knows where you are. I sent a message to her hours ago. She
gave a very good report of you, Jake; says you're an obedient lad and
that you never have told her a falsehood."

"She's a good mother," the boy warmly declared. "I'd be as bad--as bad
as my father was, if I did not treat her well." Here his hand fell on
his cap, which he put on his head.

"I'm ready," said he.

Mr. Gryce at once led the way into the street.

The hour was late, and only certain portions of the city showed any real
activity. Into one of these thoroughfares they presently came, and
before the darkened window of one of the lesser shops paused, while Jake
pointed out the two stuffed frogs engaged with miniature swords in
mortal combat at which he had been looking when the lady came up and
spoke to him.

Mr. Gryce eyed the boy rather than the frogs, though probably the former
would have sworn that his attention had never left that miniature
conflict.

"Was she a pretty lady?" he asked.

The boy scratched his head in some perplexity.

"She made me a good deal afraid of her," he said. "She had very splendid
clothes; oh, gorgeous!" he cried, as if on this question there could be