Mary's poor pretentious babe screamed continually, with a note ofexultation in his din, as if he thought he was devoting himselfto a life of pleasure, and often the last sound I heard as I gotme out of the street was his haw-haw-haw, delivered triumphantlyas if it were some entirely new thing, though he must havelearned it like a parrot. I had not one tear for the woman, butPoor father, thought I; to know that every time your son is happyyou are betrayed. Phew, a nauseous draught.

I have the acquaintance of a deliciously pretty girl, who isalways sulky, and the thoughtless beseech her to be bright, notwitting wherein lies her heroism. She was born the merriest ofmaids, but, being a student of her face, learned anon thatsulkiness best becomes it, and so she has struggled andprevailed. A woman's history. Brave Margaret, when night fallsand thy hair is down, dost thou return, I wonder, to thy naturalstate, or, dreading the shadow of indulgence, sleepest thou evensulkily?

But will a male child do as much for his father? This remains tobe seen, and so, after waiting several months, I decided to buyDavid a rocking-horse. My St. Bernard dog accompanied me, thoughI have always been diffident of taking him to toy-shops, whichover-excite him. Hitherto the toys I had bought had always beenfor him, and as we durst not admit this to the saleswoman we wereboth horribly self-conscious when in the shop. A score of timesI have told him that he had much better not come, I haveannounced fiercely that he is not to come. He then lets go ofhis legs, which is how a St. Bernard sits down, making the noiseof a sack of coals suddenly deposited, and, laying his headbetween his front paws, stares at me through the red haws thatmake his eyes so mournful. He will do this for an hour withoutblinking, for he knows that in time it will unman me. My dogknows very little, but what little he does know he knowsextraordinarily well. One can get out of my chambers by a backway, and I sometimes steal softly--but I can't help looking back,and there he is, and there are those haws asking sorrowfully, "Isthis worthy of you?"

"Curse you," I say, "get your hat," or words to that effect.

He has even been to the club, where he waddles up the stairs soexactly like some respected member that he makes everybody mostuncomfortable. I forget how I became possessor of him. I thinkI cut him out of an old number of Punch. He costs me as much asan eight-roomed cottage in the country.

He was a full-grown dog when I first, most foolishly, introducedhim to toys. I had bought a toy in the street for my ownamusement. It represented a woman, a young mother, flinging herlittle son over her head with one hand and catching him in theother, and I was entertaining myself on the hearth-rug with thispretty domestic scene when I heard an unwonted sound fromPorthos, and, looking up, I saw that noble and melancholiccountenance on the broad grin. I shuddered and was for puttingthe toy away at once, but he sternly struck down my arm with his,and signed that I was to continue. The unmanly chuckle alwayscame, I found, when the poor lady dropped her babe, but the wholething entranced him; he tried to keep his excitement down bytaking huge draughts of water; he forgot all his niceties ofconduct; he sat in holy rapture with the toy between his paws,took it to bed with him, ate it in the night, and searched for itso longingly next day that I had to go out and buy him the manwith the scythe. After that we had everything of note, thebootblack boy, the toper with bottle, the woolly rabbit thatsqueaks when you hold it in your mouth; they all vanished asinexplicably as the lady, but I dared not tell him my suspicions,for he suspected also and his gentle heart would have mourned hadI confirmed his fears.

The dame in the temple of toys which we frequent thinks I wantthem for a little boy and calls him "the precious" and "thelamb," the while Porthos is standing gravely by my side. She isa motherly soul, but over-talkative.

"And how is the dear lamb to-day?" she begins, beaming.

"Well, ma'am, well," I say, keeping tight grip of his collar.

"This blighty weather is not affecting his darling appetite?"

"No, ma'am, not at all." (She would be considerably surprised ifinformed that he dined to-day on a sheepshead, a loaf, and threecabbages, and is suspected of a leg of mutton.)

"I hope he loves his toys?"

"He carries them about with him everywhere, ma'am." (Has the onewe bought yesterday with him now, though you might not think itto look at him.)

"What do you say to a box of tools this time?"

"I think not, ma'am."

"Is the deary fond of digging?"

"Very partial to digging." (We shall find the leg of mutton someday.)

"Then perhaps a weeny spade and a pail?"

She got me to buy a model of Canterbury Cathedral once, she wasso insistent, and Porthos gave me his mind about it when we gothome. He detests the kindergarten system, and as she is absurdlyprejudiced in its favour we have had to try other shops. We wentto the Lowther Arcade for the rocking-horse. Dear LowtherArcade! Ofttimes have we wandered agape among thy enchantedpalaces, Porthos and I, David and I, David and Porthos and I. Ihave heard that thou art vulgar, but I cannot see how, unless itbe that tattered children haunt thy portals, those awful yetsmiling entrances to so much joy. To the Arcade there are twoentrances, and with much to be sung in laudation of that whichopens from the Strand I yet on the whole prefer the other as themore truly romantic, because it is there the tattered onescongregate, waiting to see the Davids emerge with the magic lamp.We have always a penny for them, and I have known them, beforeentering the Arcade with it, retire (but whither?) to wash;surely the prettiest of all the compliments that are paid to thehome of toys.

And now, O Arcade, so much fairer than thy West End brother, weare told that thou art doomed, anon to be turned into aneatinghouse or a hive for usurers, something rankly useful. Allthy delights are under notice to quit. The Noah's arks arepacked one within another, with clockwork horses harnessed tothem; the soldiers, knapsack on back, are kissing their hands tothe dear foolish girls, who, however, will not be left behindthem; all the four-footed things gather around the elephant, whois overful of drawing-room furniture; the birds flutter theirwings; the man with the scythe mows his way through the crowd;the balloons tug at their strings; the ships rock under a swellof sail, everything is getting ready for the mighty exodus intothe Strand. Tears will be shed.

So we bought the horse in the Lowther Arcade, Porthos, whothought it was for him, looking proud but uneasy, and it was sentto the bandbox house anonymously. About a week afterward I hadthe ill- luck to meet Mary's a husband in Kensington, so I askedhim what he had called his little girl.

"It is a boy," he replied, with intolerable good-humour, "we callhim David."

And then with a singular lack of taste he wanted the name of myboy.

I flicked my glove. "Timothy," said I.

I saw a suppressed smile on his face, and said hotly that Timothywas as good a name as David. "I like it," he assured me, andexpressed a hope that they would become friends. I boiled to saythat I really could not allow Timothy to mix with boys of theDavid class, but I refrained, and listened coldly while he toldme what David did when you said his toes were pigs going tomarket or returning from it, I forget which. He also boasted ofDavid's weight (a subject about which we are uncommonly touchy atthe club), as if children were for throwing forth for a wager.

But no more about Timothy. Gradually this vexed me. I felt whata forlorn little chap Timothy was, with no one to say a word forhim, and I became his champion and hinted something aboutteething, but withdrew it when it seemed too surprising, andtried to get on to safer ground, such as bibs and generalintelligence, but the painter fellow was so willing to let mehave my say, and knew so much more about babies than is fittingfor men to know, that I paled before him and wondered why thedeuce he was listening to me so attentively.

You may remember a story he had told me about some anonymousfriend. "His latest," said he now, "is to send David a rocking-horse!"

I must say I could see no reason for his mirth. "Picture it,"said he, "a rocking-horse for a child not three months old!"

I was about to say fiercely: "The stirrups are adjustable," butthought it best to laugh with him. But I was pained to hear thatMary had laughed, though heaven knows I have often laughed ather.

"But women are odd," he said unexpectedly, and explained. Itappears that in the middle of her merriment Mary had become graveand said to him quite haughtily, "I see nothing to laugh at."Then she had kissed the horse solemnly on the nose and said, "Iwish he was here to see me do it." There are moments when onecannot help feeling a drawing to Mary.

But moments only, for the next thing he said put her in aparticularly odious light. He informed me that she had sworn tohunt Mr. Anon down.

"She won't succeed," I said, sneering but nervous.

"Then it will be her first failure," said he.

"But she knows nothing about the man."

"You would not say that if you heard her talking of him. Shesays he is a gentle, whimsical, lonely old bachelor."

"Old?" I cried.

"Well, what she says is that he will soon be old if he doesn'ttake care. He is a bachelor at all events, and is very fond ofchildren, but has never had one to play with."

"Could not play with a child though there was one," I saidbrusquely; "has forgotten the way; could stand and stare only."

"Yes, if the parents were present. But he thinks that if he werealone with the child he could come out strong."

"How the deuce--" I began

"That is what she says," he explained, apologetically. "I thinkshe will prove to be too clever for him."

"Pooh," I said, but undoubtedly I felt a dizziness, and the nexttime I met him he quite frightened me. "Do you happen to knowany one," he said, "who has a St. Bernard dog?"

"No," said I, picking up my stick.

"He has a St. Bernard dog."

"How have you found that out?"

"She has found it out."

"But how?"

"I don't know."

I left him at once, for Porthos was but a little way behind me.The mystery of it scared me, but I armed promptly for battle. Iengaged a boy to walk Porthos in Kensington Gardens, and gave himthese instructions: "Should you find yourself followed by a youngwoman wheeling a second-hand perambulator, instantly hand herover to the police on the charge of attempting to steal the dog."

Now then, Mary.

"By the way," her husband said at our next meeting, "thatrocking- horse I told you of cost three guineas."

"She has gone to the shop to ask?"

"No, not to ask that, but for a description of the purchaser'sappearance."

Oh, Mary, Mary.

Here is the appearance of purchaser as supplied at the Arcade:--looked like a military gentleman; tall, dark, and rather dressy;fine Roman nose (quite so), carefully trimmed moustache goinggrey (not at all); hair thin and thoughtfully distributed overthe head like fiddlestrings, as if to make the most of it (pah!);dusted chair with handkerchief before sitting down on it, and hadother oldmaidish ways (I should like to know what they are);tediously polite, but no talker; bored face; age forty-five if aday (a lie); was accompanied by an enormous yellow dog with soreeyes. (They always think the haws are sore eyes.)

"Do you know anyone who is like that?" Mary's husband asked meinnocently.

"My dear man," I said, "I know almost no one who is not likethat," and it was true, so like each other do we grow at theclub. I was pleased, on the whole, with this talk, for it atleast showed me how she had come to know of the St. Bernard, butanxiety returned when one day from behind my curtains I saw Maryin my street with an inquiring eye on the windows. She stopped anurse who was carrying a baby and went into pretended ecstasiesover it. I was sure she also asked whether by any chance it wascalled Timothy. And if not, whether that nurse knew any othernurse who had charge of a Timothy.

Obviously Mary suspicioned me, but nevertheless, I clung toTimothy, though I wished fervently that I knew more about him;for I still met that other father occasionally, and he alwaysstopped to compare notes about the boys. And the questions heasked were so intimate, how Timothy slept, how he woke up, how hefell off again, what we put in his bath. It is well that dogsand little boys have so much in common, for it was really ofPorthos I told him; how he slept (peacefully), how he woke up(supposed to be subject to dreams), how he fell off again (withone little hand on his nose), but I glided past what we put inhis bath (carbolic and a mop).

The man had not the least suspicion of me, and I thought itreasonable to hope that Mary would prove as generous. Yet was Istraitened in my mind. For it might be that she was only bidingher time to strike suddenly, and this attached me the more toTimothy, as if I feared she might soon snatch him from me. Aswas indeed to be the case.