Roughly enough, it is true, we were directed to one of the houses, the almost intolerable stench of which increased as we went up the stairs.  By the help of one inmate and another, we made our way to Biddy’s door, and then we found it locked.

“The missis ’ll be out,” said a deformed girl who was pulling herself along by the balustrades.  She was decent-looking and spoke civilly, so I ventured to ask, “Do you mean that old Biddy is out?”

“Nay, not Biddy.  The woman that sees to her.  When she’s got to go out she locks t’ old lass up to be safe,” and volunteering no further help, the girl rested for a minute against the wall, with her hand to her side, and then dragged herself into one of the rooms, and shut the door in our faces.

The court without and the houses within already resounded so to the squalling of children, that I paid no attention to the fact that more of this particular noise was coming up the stairs; but in another moment a woman, shaking a screaming baby in her arms, and dragging two crying children at her skirts, clenched her disengaged fist (it had a key in it) close to our faces and said, “And which of you vagabones is t’ old lass’s son?”

“Neither of us,” said I, “but we want to see her, if we may.  Are you the woman who takes care of her?”

“I’ve plenty to do minding my own, I can tell ye,” she grumbled, “but I couldn’t abear to see t’ ould lass taken to a ’sylum.  They’re queer places some on ’em, as I know.  And as to t’ House! there’s a many folks says, ‘Well, if t’ guardians won’t give her no relief, let her go in.’  But she got hold on me one day, and she says, ‘Sally, darling’ (that’s t’ ould lass’s way, is calling ye Darling.  It sounds soft, but she is but an old Irish woman, as one may say), ‘if ever,’ she says, ’you hear tell of their coming to fetch me, GOD bless ye,’ she says, ’just give me a look out of your eye, and I’m gone.  I’ll be no more trouble to any one,’ she says, ‘and maybe I’ll make it worth your while too.’”

At this point in her narrative the woman looked mysterious, nodded her head, craned over the banisters to see that no one was near, slapped the children and shook up the baby as a sort of mechanical protest against the noise they were making (as to effects they only howled the louder), and drawing nearer to us, spoke in lower tones: 

“T’ old lass has money, it’s my belief, though she gives me nowt for her lodging, and she spends nowt on herself.  She’s many a time fair clemmed, I’ll assure ye, till I can’t abear to see it, and I give her the bit and sup I might have had myself, for I’m not going to rob t’ children neither for her nor nobody.  Ye see it’s her son that’s preying on her mind.  He wrote her a letter awhile ago, saying times was bad out yonder, and he was fair heart-broke to be so far away from her, and she’s been queer ever since.  She’s wanted for everything herself, slaving and saving to get enough