before, had heard a confused story about a Mr. Chapman, with his dog and
his child, whom the Mayor had first taken up, but who afterwards, in some
mysterious manner, had taken in the Mayor. Happily, the darker gossip in
the High Street had not penetrated the back lane in which Merle's sister
resided. There, little more was known than the fact that this mysterious
stranger had imposed on the wisdom of Gatesboro's learned Institute and
enlightened Mayor. Merle, at no loss to identify Waife with Chapman,
could only suppose that he had been discovered to be a strolling player
in Rugge's exhibition, after pretending to be some much greater man.
Such an offence the Cobbler was not disposed to consider heinous. But
Mr. Chapman was gone from Gatesboro' none knew whither; and Merle had not
yet ventured to call himself on the chief magistrate of the place, to
inquire after a man by whom that august personage had been deceived.
"Howsomever," quoth Merle, in conclusion, "I was just standing at my
sister's door, with her last babby in my arms, in Scrob Lane, when I saw
you pass by like a shot. You were gone while I ran in to give up the
babby, who is teething, with malefics in square,--gone, clean out of
sight. You took one turn; I took another: but you see we meet at last,
as good men always do in this world or the other, which is the same thing
in the long run."

Waife, who had listened to his friend without other interruption than an
occasional nod of the head or interjectional expletive, was now restored
to much of his constitutional mood of sanguine cheerfulness. He
recognized Mrs. Crane in the woman described; and, if surprised, he was
rejoiced. For, much as he disliked that gentlewoman, he thought Sophy
might be in worse female hands. Without much need of sagacity, he
divined the gist of the truth. Losely had somehow or other become
acquainted with Rugge, and sold Sophy to the manager. Where Rugge was,
there would Sophy be. It could not be very difficult to find out the