On a yellow, dreamy day of late autumn, while the sergeant was strolling through the Fens, he came suddenly upon little Virgie Manning and her nurse.

“Hello, little miss!” said the sergeant. “I haven’t seen you for a long time; but where did you get those flowers? They look like some of the park golden-rod.”

“Yes,” said Virgie in her half-lisping voice; “they are your flowers, Mr. Policeman.”

“But you musn’t pick the park flowers,” said the sergeant.

“And sure I told her that myself,” said Bridget. “Now, missy, you see what happens to naughty girls. Are you going to take her to prison, Mr. Officer?”

Virgie laughed gleefully. She was not at all afraid of the sergeant.

“No, not this time,” he said.

“Mr. Policeman,” said Virgie, “one time long ago weren’t you a weeny boy?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Did you love the pretty flowerses?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you picked them,” said Virgie, “and naughty big men scolded you?”

“No, they didn’t; I lived in the country.”

“Then, you mustn’t scold me,” said Virgie gayly. “O Bridget! there is a big, big fly with blue wingses. You stand still like a mousie while I catch it, ’cause if you runned you might starkle it;” and she darted away.

“And is the French boy still making his home with you, sir?” asked Bridget curiously.

“Yes; he is still with us.”

“And he doesn’t hear from his bad old uncle in France, Virtue Ann tells me.”

“No; he hasn’t as yet,” said the sergeant.

“And it’s a great comfort to Virtue Ann that you’ve shielded him,” continued Bridget, “otherwise she’d have cold comfort in the good place she’s found for herself. ‘Virtue Ann,’ said I, ‘if you despise your luck this time, you’ll be guilty of the sin of onprudency. Make seven crosses, and let the boy go, and you’ll find you’re in the right of it.’”

“The boy is always glad to see her,” said the sergeant absently. “Hello, Boozy, what’s the matter?”

“And sure that’s a queer cat,” said Bridget, eyeing the black-and-white animal who was mewing excitedly, and walking up and down at a little distance from them.

“He wants to show me something, and badly too,” said the sergeant, “or he wouldn’t come so near a woman. Go on, Boozy, I’ll follow.”

At this moment little Virgie came running up crying, “The naughty fly flewed away. He wouldn’t play wif me. Oh! there’s the sweet pussy;” and she precipitated herself toward Boozy.

The king was in great distress. He sprang nimbly from side to side, waving his tail angrily in the air as he tried to elude the little girl’s caresses, and at the same time keep the attention of the sergeant fixed on himself.

“I understand you, Boozy,” said the sergeant. “Walk on, and I’ll come. Look here, little girl, you stop chasing him, will you, and take my hand? We’ll see what he’s leading us to.”

“Perhaps he has some little kittens to show us,” suggested Virgie.

“No; the king isn’t fond of kittens. Probably it’s a mole or a mouse he’s caught, or perhaps his chum is in trouble. One day he was caught in a wire fence, and Boozy came for me to set him free. Can you trot along a little faster, he seems to be in a hurry?”

“Yes,” said the child, hopping and skipping along by his side, her blue eyes wandering to and fro across the broad avenue. “Where’s Eugene?” she asked suddenly, “Virgie hasn’t seen him for lots and lots of time.”

“He’s in the park somewhere,” said the sergeant. “He spends a great deal of time here. He has taken a great fancy to Boozy, and sits for hours watching him. I guess the cat teaches him a good many lessons.”

“The king is a good pussy,” remarked Virgie sagely.

“He is not perfect, but he is about as good as a cat can be,” said her companion.

Virgie stopped to pick up some shining pebbles from the ground, but the sergeant hurried her on. “Make haste, little girl, if you want to come with me. There’s something queer about the king’s actions. See how he is running.”

Virgie trotted along beside him again, and her nurse quickened her footsteps so that she might keep up with the two figures ahead of her.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed the sergeant, suddenly dropping the child’s hand, and scrambling down a slope beside them; “just look at that boy.”

“The boy! and sure there’s no boy to be seen,” said Bridget, who had heard his exclamation, and paused in surprise at the top of the little hill, and looked about her.

Just below them was a marshy, sedgy pond. A few ducks were dabbling in the mud at one end of it, and at the other end something brown and indistinct was moving in a slow and confused way among the rushes.

“I guess it’s Eugene,” cried little Virgie, tearfully clasping her tiny hands. “I guess he runned and frowed hisself in the water.”

“Hush, lovie,” said her nurse, putting her arm around her. “There isn’t much water here, it’s mostly mud, nor any boy for that matter. Watch and see what the quare thing is.”

The indistinct figure kept going to and fro, slightly disturbing the rushes, while the sergeant rushed back and forth over the encircling firm ground as if looking for something.

“And sure he’s crazy,” muttered Bridget. Then she tried to hush Virgie, who was crying apprehensively.

“Do you see a rope anywhere up there?” shouted the sergeant. “I had one here this morning. Some rascal must have taken it.”

Bridget ran about a little among the underbrush. “No, sir,” she called back; “there’s not a shadow of a rope nor a bit of a plank here.”

“Then, I’ll have to go in myself,” said the sergeant in a disgusted voice. “Eugene, can’t you walk out? Come this way. You can see me, can’t you?”

“Oh, the blessed saints presarve us!” cried Bridget, “that quare round thing is the head of the boy; and it’s mud he is—and there’s an arm sticking out—and now he’s almost gone.”

Little Virgie gave a shriek. Eugene was indeed sinking more deeply into the marsh that would soon close its lips over him if he should fall down. The sergeant made one brief exclamation, and snatching off his coat and his helmet threw them on the ground. Then he waded in to the spot where Eugene had been staggering about, and stretching out an arm he drew him out toward the dry ground.

“May I be forgiven for laughing,” said Bridget, clutching Virgie by the hand, and hurrying down the grassy bank, “but I nivver saw such a soight in my life—and sure the boy is brown from the top of his head to the sole of his foot. Mr. Officer, he hasn’t fainted, has he?”

“He’s half choked with the mud and the slime,” said the sergeant dryly. “Lend me your handkerchief, will you?”

He was bending over Eugene, whom he had laid on the ground. Rapidly and skilfully he wiped the boy’s face, and cleaned his head with leaves from a shrub near by.

“Take, please take my little hankerskniff,” gasped Virgie, extending a microscopic bit of cambric.

To please her the sergeant wiped Eugene’s eyes with it; then he said, “Can you speak now, boy?”

Eugene struggled to a sitting posture, and stared solemnly from under sticky eyelashes at them.

Bridget tried not to laugh; but she was not used to controlling herself, and she had also been a little frightened. She began with a little squeal, then she became hysterical, and laughed and cried in the same breath.

“If ye’s could only see yourselves,” she said spasmodically; “so gummed up, like two alligators. I ask yer pardon humbly, but it’s too ludicrous that ye are—and that boy that’s always like a picture, so nate and clane, and yerself, Mr. Officer, that wears the fine uniform—sure, you’re worse than the men in the subway with the clay trousers.”

The sergeant smiled grimly. “I don’t wonder you’re amused,” he said. “Tell me, Eugene, how you got into this pickle.”

The boy cleaned two of his fingers on the grass, and took a last remnant of earth from his mouth. “It was my cap that I was after,” he said. “The wind blew it among the rushes. I went to get it on what I thought was a point of green grass. It was soft mud beneath. I went in to my ankles, and I could with difficulty draw my feet out. Then I walked the wrong way, and fell into a deep hole. When I rose, I found myself in to my waist, and bewildered and sinking.”

“Why did you not stand still and call for help?” asked the sergeant. “There are always people about.”

“I should have felt like a coward,” said Eugene, proudly holding up his mud-plastered head.

“I don’t think it would have been as cowardly to call for assistance as to drop down there and smother to death,” said the sergeant.

“I thought of the emperor,” said Eugene. “‘Why do you duck your head?’ he once asked a soldier who bent to avoid a round shot. ‘If your fate is not there you might as well stand up straight. If it is there, it will find you though you bury yourself one hundred feet in the earth.’”

“All very fine,” said the sergeant; “but at the same time, Napoleon wasn’t the man to stick in a mud-hole while he had a good voice in his body that would help him out. Come, boy, we had better make our way home if you feel up to it, and get rid of these clothes before the mud dries on us.”

“And it’s home we’ll have to be going too,” said Bridget in a disapproving voice. She had not been able to keep her warm-hearted little charge from embracing her muddy playmate, and Virgie’s red cloak was in consequence disfigured by a number of dark streaks.

“I wish to hug the good pussy,” said Virgie, drawing back as she caught sight of King Boozy, who sat on the bridge above, watching them.

The sergeant laughed. “Boozy hates dirt and disorder. He did his share of the work, then retired to watch us. Was he with you, boy, when your cap blew off?”

“Yes,” said Eugene; “he was following me as I walked to and fro on the path.”

“And when he saw you were stuck, he came for me,” said the sergeant. “He is the most knowing cat I ever saw. Hello, here’s a cart coming just in good time to give us a lift. You look fagged out, Eugene. Give me your hand; now jump in.”

“Good-by, dear Eugene,” called Virgie. “If you don’t play in the naughty mud any more, Virgie won’t frow stones at your remperor;” and she threw kisses to him until he was out of sight.

“The missis will be astonished to see us,” said the sergeant, as they jogged along in the cart, “but she’ll have us cleaned up in no time. Boy,” and he looked slyly at Eugene, “you didn’t like cats much when you came to us. Would you mind telling me your private opinion of them now?”

A smile flitted over Eugene’s weary, dirty face. “A human being could have done no more for me this morning than the king did,” he said simply.