Tottie and Mrs Bones in Difficulty.  
The descent of George Aspel became very rapid in course of time. As he lost self-respect he became reckless and, as a natural consequence, more dissipated. Remonstrances from his friend Mr Blurt, which were repelled at first with haughty disdain, came to be received with sullen indifference. He had nothing to say for himself in reply, because, in point of fact, there was nothing in his case to justify his taking so gloomy and despairing a view of life. Many men, he knew, were at his age out of employment, and many more had been crossed in love. He was too proud to condescend to false reasoning with his lips, though he encouraged it in his heart. He knew quite well that drink and bad companionship were ruining him, and off-hand, open-hearted fellow though he was said to be, he was mean enough, as we have already said, to growlingly charge his condition and his sins on Fate.
 
At last he resolved to give up the business that was so distasteful to him. Unable to give a satisfactory reason for so doing, or to say what he meant to attempt next, and unwilling or ashamed to incur the remonstrances and rebut the arguments of his patron, the bold descendant of the sea-kings adopted that cowardly method of departure called taking French leave. Like some little schoolboy, he ran away! In other words, he disappeared, and left no trace behind him.
 
Deep was Mr Enoch Blurt’s regret, for he loved the youth sincerely, and made many fruitless efforts to find him—for lost in London means lost indeed! He even employed a detective, but the grave man in grey—who looked like no class of man in particular, and seemed to have no particular business in hand, and who talked with Mr Blurt, at their first meeting, in a quiet, sensible, easy way, as though he had been one of his oldest friends—could find no clue to him, for the good reason that Mr Bones had taken special care to entice Aspel into a distant locality, under pretence of putting him in the way of finding semi-nautical employment about the docks. Moreover, he managed to make Aspel drunk, and arranged with boon companions to strip him, while in that condition, of his garments, and re-clothe him in the seedy garb peculiar to those gentlemen who live by their wits.
 
“Very strange,” muttered Aspel, on recovering sufficiently to be led by his friend towards Archangel Court,—“very strange that I did not feel the scoundrels robbing me. I must have slept very soundly.”
 
“Yes, you slep’ wery sound, and they’re a bad lot, and uncommon sharp in that neighbourhood. It’s quite celebrated. I tried to get you away, but you was as obstinate as a mule, an’ kep’ on singing about some sort o’ coves o’ the old times that must have bin bigger blackguards than we ’ave about us now-a-days, though the song calls ’em glorious.”
 
“Well, well,” said Aspel, shrinking under the public gaze as he passed through the streets, “don’t talk about that. Couldn’t you get into some by-lanes, where there are not so many people? I don’t like to be seen, even by strangers, in this disreputable guise. I wish the sun didn’t shine so brightly. Come, push on, man.”
 
“W’y, sir,” said Bones, becoming a little more respectful in spite of himself, “you’ve no need to be ashamed of your appearance. There’s not ’alf a dozen people in a mile walk in London as would look twice at you whatever appearance you cut—so long as it was only disreputable.”
 
“Never mind—push on,” said Aspel sternly; “I am ashamed whether I have need to be or not. I’m a fool. I’m more—I’m a brute. I tell you what it is, Bones, I’m determined to turn over a new leaf. I’ll write to Mr Blurt and tell him where I am, for, of course, I can’t return to him in such clothes as these, and—and—I’ll give up drink.”
 
Bones met this remark with an unexpected and bitter laugh.
 
“What d’you mean?” demanded Aspel, turning fiercely upon him.
 
“I mean,” replied Bones, returning his stare with the utmost coolness, “that you can’t give up drink, if you was to try ever so much. You’re too far gone in it. I’ve tried it myself, many a time, and failed, though I’ve about as strong a will as your own—maybe stronger.”
 
“We shall see,” returned Aspel, as they moved on again and turned into the lane which led to the wretched abode of Bones.
 
“Bring me pen, ink, and paper!” he exclaimed, on entering the room, with a grand air—for a pint of ale, recently taken, had begun to operate.
 
Bones, falling in with his friend’s humour, rummaged about until he found the stump of a quill, a penny inkbottle, and a dirty sheet of paper. These he placed on a rickety table, and Aspel wrote a scrawly note, in which he gave himself very bad names, and begged Mr Blurt to come and see him, as he had got into a scrape, and could by no means see his way out of it. Having folded the note very badly, he rose with the intention of going out to post it, but his friend offered to post it for him.
 
Accepting the offer, he handed him the note and flung himself down in a heap on the straw mattress in the dark corner, where he had first become acquainted with Bones. In a few seconds he was in a deep lethargic slumber.
 
“What a wretched spectacle!” exclaimed Bones, touching him with his toe, and, in bitter mockery, quoting the words that Aspel had once used regarding himself.
 
He turned to leave the room, and was met by Mrs Bones.
 
“There’s a friend o’ yours in the corner, Molly. Don’t disturb him. I’m goin’ to post a letter for him, and will be back directly.”
 
Bones went out, posted the letter in the common sewer, and returned home.
 
During the brief interval of his absence Tottie had come in—on a visit after her prolonged sojourn in the country. She was strangling her mother with a kiss when he entered.
 
“Oh, mother! I’m so happy, and so sorry!” she exclaimed, laughing and sobbing at once.
 
Tottie was obviously torn by conflicting emotions. “Take your time, darling,” said Mrs Bones, smoothing the child’s hair with her red toil-worn hand.
 
“Ay, take it easy, Tot,” said her father, with a meaning glance, that sent a chill to the child’s heart, while he sat down on a stool and began to fill his pipe. “What’s it all about?”
 
“Oh! it’s the beautiful country I’ve been in. Mother, you can’t think—the green fields and the trees, and, oh! the flowers, and no bricks—almost no houses—and—But did you know”—her grief recurred here—“that Mr Aspel ’as bin lost? an’ I’ve been tellin’ such lies! We came in to town, Miss Lillycrop an’ me, and we’ve heard about Mr Aspel from old Mr Blurt, who’s tryin’ to find him out with ’vertisements in the papers an’ detectives an’ a message-boy they call Phil, who’s a friend of Mr Aspel, an’ also of Peter.”
 
“Who’s Peter?” asked Mrs Bones.
 
“Ah, who’s Peter?” echoed Mr Bones, with a somewhat sly glance under his brows.
 
“He’s a message-boy, and such a dear fellow,” replied Tottie. “I don’t know his other name, he didn’t mention it, and they only call him little Peter, but he saved me from the fire; at least he tried—”
 
“Saved you from the fire!” exclaimed Mrs Bones in amazement.
 
“Yes; didn’t Miss Lillycrop tell you?” asked Tottie in no less surprise.
 
Now it is but justice to Miss Lillycrop to say that even in the midst of her perturbation after the fire she sought to inform Mrs Bones of her child’s safety, and sent her a note, which failed to reach her, owing to her being away at the time on one of her prolonged absences from home, and the neighbour to whose care it had been committed had forgotten all about it. As Mrs Bones read no newspapers and ............