“Ketchin’ em young, Sally,” said one of them.  “Wot will the world come to, Jack, when younkers like this get a-goin’?  Drop the baby, Sally, and come along o’ me!”

The woman looked at him a moment steadily.

“Let me go,” said she; “I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Don’t, eh?” said he.  “Git away, Bub, an’ let your betters have way.”

I clung closer to her side, and looked at him rather defiantly.  He drew back his flat hand to slap me over; but the woman pulled me behind her, and faced him, with a drawn knife in her hand.  He made as if to take it from her; but his companion held him back.

“Do you want six inches o’ cold steel in your liver?” he asked.  “Let her be.  There’s plenty o’ others.”

“My money is jest as good’s any one else’s,” said the first.  “Jest as good’s any one else’s;” and began wrangling with his friend.

The woman pushed me before her and we went up-stairs to a bedroom, the door of which she closed and locked.  She said nothing about what had taken place below, and I at once made up my mind that it had been some sort of joke.

“You oughtn’t to sleep on that floor,” said she, “You’ll take your death o’ cold.  Lay down here, and have a good comfortable nap.  I’ll see that Captain Sproule finds you.”

I started to lie down in my clothes.  “Take off them clothes,” said she, as if astonished.  “Do you think I want my bed all dirtied up with ’em?” And she began undressing me as if I had been a baby.  She was so tender and motherly about it that I permitted her to strip me to my shirt, and then turned in.  The bed was soft, and sleep began to come back to me.  I saw my new friend preparing for bed, and presently I awoke to find her lying by me, and holding me in her arms:  I heard her sitheing[2], and I was sure she was crying.  This woke me up, and I lay wondering if there was anything I could do for her, but I said nothing.  Pretty soon there came a loud rap at the door, and a woman asked to be let in.

[2] The writer insists that “sitheing” is quite a different thing from sighing, being a long-drawn, quivering sigh.  In this I think he is correct.—­G.v.d.M.

“What do you want?” asked my friend, getting out of bed as if scared, and beginning to put on her clothes, I hustled out and began dressing—­a very short job with me.  In the meantime the woman at the door grew louder and more commanding in her demand, so much so, that before she was fully dressed, my strange friend opened the door, and there stood a great fleshy woman, wearing a lot of jewelry; red-faced, and very angry.  I can’t remember much that was said; but I remember that the fat woman kept saying, “What do you mean?  What do you mean?  I want you to understand that my guests have their rights.  One man’s money is as good as another’s,” and the like.  “Whose brat is this?” she finally asked, pointing at me.

“He’s driving for a man with money,” said my friend sarcastically.