as beside this foil, and that although he did not dispute her being her father’s daughter, he should ever remain stedfast in the faith that she could not be her mother’s.

This visit was, as has been said, a grand event. Another event, not grand but deemed in the house a special one, occurred at about the same period; and this was, the first interview between Mr. Sloppy and Miss Wren.

The dolls” dressmaker, being at work for the Inexhaustible upon a full-dressed doll some two sizes larger than that young person, Mr. Sloppy undertook to call for it, and did so.

“Come in, sir,” said Miss Wren, who was working at her bench. “And who may you be?”

Mr. Sloppy introduced himself by name and buttons.

“Oh indeed!” cried Jenny. “Ah! I have been looking forward to knowing you. I heard of your distinguishing yourself.”

“Did you, Miss?” grinned Sloppy. “I am sure I am glad to hear it, but I don’t know how.”

“Pitching somebody into a mud-cart,” said Miss Wren.

“Oh! That way!” cried Sloppy. “Yes, Miss.” And threw back his head and laughed.

“Bless us!” exclaimed Miss Wren, with a start. “Don’t open your mouth as wide as that, young man, or it’ll catch so, and not shut again some day.”

Mr. Sloppy opened it, if possible, wider, and kept it open until his laugh was out.

“Why, you’re like the giant,” said Miss Wren, “when he came home in the land of Beanstalk, and wanted Jack for supper.”

“Was he good-looking, Miss?” asked Sloppy.

“No,” said Miss Wren. “Ugly.”

Her visitor glanced round the room — which had many comforts in it now, that had not been in it before — and said: “This is a pretty place, Miss.”

“Glad you think so, sir,” returned Miss Wren. “And what do you think of Me?”

The honesty of Mr. Sloppy being severely taxed by the question, he twisted a button, grinned, and faltered.

“Out with it!” said Miss Wren, with an arch look. “Don’t you think me a queer little comicality?” In shaking her head at him after asking the question, she shook her hair down.

“Oh!” cried Sloppy, in a burst of admiration. “What a lot, and what a colour!”

Miss Wren, with her usual expressive hitch, went on with her work. But, left her hair as it was; not displeased by the effect it had made.

“You don’t live here alone; do you, Miss?” asked Sloppy.

“No,” said Miss Wren, with a chop. “Live here with my fairy godmother.”

“With;” Mr. Sloppy couldn’t make it out; “with who did you say, Miss?”