“I’m waiting for dad,” he explained, blinking and stretching.  “My, it does make your neck stiff.”

“Come with me, and I’ll put you in bed.”

“Must wait for dad,” he protested.

“You’ll be too tired to play to-morrow.  You’ll be dropping asleep all day.”

“Then he’ll go to sleep on the floor, and have a bad back,” he said.

“Whyever does he go to sleep on the floor?”

“Because he’s too tired, like I was.  Only if I take my boots off and kick him—­very kindly, I have to kick—­he wakes up and he’s cross and then he gets into bed.”

He stared at her, frowning, as though trying to understand or else to explain this queerness of his father’s.  Next minute he found himself clasped firmly in her arms.  He was very thin and light—­much thinner than the Mactavish babies and Jock’s children.

She marched up to Mr. Peters.

“I’m putting Jimmy to bed, Mr. Peters.  It’s late and cold.”  Then she added, “May I?”

“Plezh—­plezh—­my dear,” he said, smiling foolishly.

“Sweet of you—­dear little chap,” twittered the little lady.

They passed a group of some dozen men sitting round a brown blanket hedged with a fence of tumblers.  They were watching a game of cards.  The pock-marked man looked up from the pile of cards in front of him and grinned at Jimmy.

“You find it easier to get off than I do, son,” he shouted.  Jimmy kicked out at him as they passed, and there was a roar of laughter.

“I hate him—­he’s like the Beast,” said the child as they went down the companion-way.

“Poor man—­he can’t help that.  The Beast turned into a prince, didn’t he?”

“He’s a nasty man.  He sleeps in with us.  And the man with no fingers.  Ugh, they’re dreadful.  They stayed awake all night and so did daddy.  And they wouldn’t let me put the bottles through the porthole this morning.  They put them themselves, and I did so want to see them go smash.”

Marcella stopped dead.  Things were trickling into her mind.  She saw her father and her little thin arm dangling sickeningly when he broke it years ago; all her childish terrors of him came back, associated with the whisky, changed into a general terror of anything that was a father.  She saw Jimmy’s little arm broken—­and there were three of them in that tiny cabin to break his little arm!

“Oh, poor wee mannie!  Jimmy, ye’re just going to sleep in my little house.”

He started to dance with joy, holding on to her hand and hopping on one foot in the alley-way.  Then his face clouded over.

“There’ll be nobody to make daddy get in bed, then,” he said.

“Well—­”

“His back’ll be bad to-morrow if he lies on the floor.”

“The ugly man will make him go to bed, because if he doesn’t they won’t have anywhere to walk,” she said, determined to save his arm at any cost.

“D’you think so?” he asked eagerly.