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“There, there, don’t be silly,” said the woman. “I am going out for a day’s charing, and have no time to be bothered. Look after Dan and do your duty. I expect he took a chill yesterday when you took him to Battersea Park; so now you must stay at home and nurse him back to health.”

Poor little Netty smiled rather faintly.

“You’re looking dead-beat yourself,” said the woman. “I can’t make out what’s come to all of you. There’s Ben hadn’t any appetite for his good plain breakfast. Now, you go and look after baby; I’m glad it’s Saturday: you needn’t be at school.”

The day was hot, even hotter than the previous one. Mrs. Floss started off on her charing expedition, and Netty sat on the doorstep with the sick baby. Dan grew worse each moment. He could scarcely open his languid eyes, his little face was deadly pale, and at times a shudder ran through his frame.

Mrs. Court came and looked at him ominously. “You’d better have left him with me,” she said. “He’s eaten something that has disagreed with him, and now he’ll have convulsions and die.”

“Oh! don’t say such cruel things,” cried poor Netty.

Mrs. Court hobbled back to her room, and Netty sat on with an awestruck look on her face. Presently she stooped down and kissed the baby on his brow. He was stirring restlessly. Netty felt that she loved him better even than Ben, better than anything else in the world.

“Don’t you go, and die, baby,” she said, in a low whisper. And now the baby, just as if he heard the words and understood them, opened his sweet blue eyes, and looked her full in the face, and then he gave a faint smile and shut his eyes again, and she heard him breathing quickly, and the next moment a spasm crossed his little face.

Netty could stand it no longer.

“I must take him to someone; but I haven’t a penny in the world. Oh! what shall I do? I know: I’ll go to Mrs. Holmes, that kind lady; she’ll tell me what to do for Dan. She may punish me, she may do what she likes, for I’ll tell her the whole gospel truth, if only she’ll save Dan.”

Netty staggered to her feet; there was resolution on her little face.

Mrs. Holmes had taken a fancy to the child who loved the baby so well, and on parting the night before she had said to her:

“I have just moved into a new house, Susy Minchin, and as perhaps you do not know of the change, will you tell your Mother this is my new address,” and then she repeated it slowly twice to the child: “5, George-street, Bloomsbury. Now, you will remember that, little girl, won’t you? and when I want your Mother to come to do a day’s charing I will let her know.”

Netty had scarcely listened at the time. What did it matter to her? for she was not Susy Minchin: she was Netty Floss.

But now like a ray of sunshine the memory of this address crossed her mind.

George-street, Bloomsbury, was a long way off, but Netty was a brave walker. It took two hours, carrying that heavy baby, to get there, and as she walked the baby’s face frightened her more and more, but with the aid of several friendly policemen she did get at last to George-street. She walked up the steps of the tall house and sounded the knocker, and waited with great anxiety until the door was opened. It was opened, not by a servant, who in all probability would have sent Netty away, but by no less a person than Mrs. Holmes herself.

“Why, Susy!” cried the lady, starting back; “who would suppose that I should see you here, and the dear baby too? What is the matter?”

“Oh! let me in,” panted poor Netty; “do, please, and I ain’t Susy–I’m Netty, and this ain’t my little cousin–he’s my own brother, and he’s bad, very bad. Oh, ma’am, I’m such a miserable girl!”