No, 'e's nothing in the world but fizzle and talk . . . a bag of chaff -- an 'ollow drum."

Mary heard her sadly and in silence. This, too. Oh, the gilt was off poor Tilly's gingerbread in earnest.

But, in listening, she had also cocked an attentive ear, and now she said: "Tilly, there's something about that child's cry . . . there's a tone in it -- a . . ."

"'Ungry . . .!" said Tilly fiercely. "'E's starving -- that's what it is."

"Of course, hungry, too. But I must say it sounds to me more angry. And then look how he beats the air with his little fists. He's not trying to suck them or even get them near his mouth. What I'm wondering is . . . Richard can't, of course, touch the case, now it's in MacMullen's hands. But I'm going home to tell him all about it. He used to have great luck with children in the old days. There's no saying. He might be able to suggest something. In the meantime, my dear, keep a good heart. Nothing is gained by despairing."

"Bless you, Mary! If any one can put spunk into a mortal it's you."

"Starving?" said Mahony on hearing the tale. "I shouldn't wonder if starving itself was not nearer the mark."

"But Richard, such a young child . .