fallen to bad eggs!"

"Sleuth," echoed Bunting, staring at her. "What a queer name!
How d'you spell it--S-l-u-t-h?"

"No," she shot out, "S-l-e--u--t--h."

"Oh," he said doubtfully.

"He said, 'Think of a hound and you'll never forget my name,'"
and Mrs. Bunting smiled.

When he got to the door, Bunting turned round: "We'll now be able
to pay young Chandler back some o' that thirty shillings. I am
glad." She nodded; her heart, as the saying is, too full for words.

And then each went about his and her business--Bunting out into
the drenching fog, his wife down to her cold kitchen.

The lodger's tray was soon ready; everything upon it nicely and
daintily arranged. Mrs. Bunting knew how to wait upon a gentleman.

Just as the landlady was going up the kitchen stair, she suddenly
remembered Mr. Sleuth's request for a Bible. Putting the tray down
in the hall, she went into her sitting-room and took up the Book;
but when back in the hall she hesitated a moment as to whether it
was worth while to make two journeys. But, no, she thought she
could manage; clasping the large, heavy volume under her arm, and
taking up the tray, she walked slowly up the staircase.