From the conversation which he overheard he
learned that he had been mistaken in his supposition as to the
relation between the two, and that, singular as it seemed, Peg had
the guardianship of the child. This made his course clearer. He
mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door.
"What do you want?" said a sharp voice from within.
"I should like to see you a moment," was the reply.
Peg opened the door partially, and regarded the young man
suspiciously.
"I don't know you," she said, shortly. "I never saw you before."
"I presume not," said the young man. "We have never met, I think. I
am an artist."
"That is a business I don't know anything about," said Peg,
abruptly. "You've come to the wrong place. I don't want to buy any
pictures. I've got plenty of other ways to spend my money."
Certainly, Mrs. Hardwick, to give her the name she once claimed, did
not look like a patron of the arts.
"You have a young girl, about eight or nine years old, living with
you," said the artist.
"Who told you that?" queried Peg, her suspicions at once roused.
"No one told me. I saw her with you in the street."
Peg at once conceived the idea that her visitor was aware of the
fact that that the child was stolen--possibly he might be acquainted
with the Crumps, or might be their emissary. She therefore answered,
shortly,--
"People that are seen walking together don't always live together.
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