"Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual.
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