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 the office, they went. The door was opened by a rude, dirty boy (Mrs. Kidder's eldest hope), who, running to the landing-places on the stairs, shouted, "Ma—I say, can't you come down—here's somebody after a place."

"Tell 'em to come up here, Lorenzo." "Follow your nose, ma'am," called out the boy, "and go to where you hear the tum-tumin."

Mrs. Lee obeyed the direction; and passing an open parlour door, she saw two communicating apartments gaudily furnished. Lucy followed her mother, and, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Lorenzo came sliding down on the baluster, and, as he landed beside her, he threw his arm round her neck, kissed her cheek, and ran shouting out of the house. Lucy, confounded, called, "Mother, mother!" and would have implored her to turn back; but Mrs. Lee was already at the turn of the stairs, where she had been met by a slatternly Irish girl, who had spilled half a basin of dirty water at her feet. Not being in the least aware of the impertinence offered to her child, she had sprung forward to avoid the inundation, and was already in the presence of Mrs. Kidder, who sat before the open door of the room whence proceeded the tum-tumin—that is to say, the notes of a cracked piano, whereon one of the Misses Kidder was thrumming. "You come from the intelligence-office, I take it?"

Before Mrs. Lee could reply, one of the half dozen children in the room shouted out, "Ma, mayn't Matilda give me my horse?"

"No, I say I won't, ’cause he snatched my slate yesterday."