with the key at one of the cell-doors, and listened. There was no sound within, so she coughed and listened again. Still there was no reply, so she spoke.
"Nolly, dear?" murmured Nancy in a gentle voice;—"Nolly?"
There was nobody inside but a miserable shoeless criminal, who had been taken up for playing the flute, and who—the offence against society having been clearly proved—had been very properly committed by Mr. Fang to the House of Correction for one month, with the appropriate and amusing remark that since he had so much breath to spare, it would be much more wholesomely expended on the tread-mill than in a musical instrument. He made no answer, being occupied in mentally bewailing the loss of the flute, which had been confiscated for the use of the county; so Nancy passed on to the next cell, and knocked there.
"Well," cried a faint and feeble voice.
"Is there a little boy here?" inquired Nancy with a preliminary sob.
"No," replied the voice; "God forbid!"
