's six month with 'ard labour, if it ain't five year."
At this point the crowd opened up to let a maniac enter. He was breathless, hatless, moist, and frantic.
"My child! my darling! my dear Di!" he gasped.
"Papa!" responded Diana, with a little scream, and, leaping into his arms, grasped him in a genuine hug.
"Oh! I say," whispered the small butcher, "it's a melly-drammy--all for nuffin!"
"My!" responded the small baker, with a solemn look, "won't the Lord left-tenant be down on 'em for play-actin' without a licence, just!"
"Is the pony killed?" inquired Sir Richard, recovering himself.
"Not in the least, sir. 'Ere 'e is, sir; all alive an' kickin'," answered the small butcher, delighted to have the chance of making himself offensively useful, "but the hinsurance offices wouldn't 'ave the clo'se-baskit at no price. Shall I order up the remains of your carriage, sir?"
"Oh! I'm so glad he's not dead," said Diana, looking hastily up, "but this policeman wa