“Oh yes; all settled.  When does the next steamer sail?” and Pinky almost screamed with merriment.  She had been drinking.

“H-u-s-h! h-u-s-h!  None of that here, Pinky.  The people down stairs are good Methodists, and think me a saint.”

“You a saint?  Oh dear!” and she shook with repressed enjoyment.

After this the two women grew serious, and put their heads together for business.

“Who is this woman, Fan?  What’s her name, and where does she live?” asked Pinky Swett.

“That’s my secret, Pinky,” replied Mrs. Bray, “and I can’t let it go; it wouldn’t be safe.  You get a little off the handle sometimes, and don’t know what you say—­might let the cat out of the bag.  Sally Long took the baby away, and she died two months ago; so I’m the only one now in the secret.  All I want of you is to keep track of the baby.  Here is a five-dollar bill; I can’t trust you with more at a time.  I know your weakness, Pinky;” and she touched her under the chin in a familiar, patronizing way.

Pinky wasn’t satisfied with this, and growled a little, just showing her teeth like an unquiet dog.

“Give me ten,” she said; “the woman gave you thirty.  I heard her say so.  And she’s going to bring you seventy to-morrow.”

“You’ll only waste it, Pinky,” remonstrated Mrs. Bray.  “It will all be gone before morning.”

“Fan,” said the woman, leaning toward Mrs. Bray and speaking in a low, confidential tone, “I dreamed of a cow last night, and that’s good luck, you know.  Tom Oaks made a splendid hit last Saturday—­drew twenty dollars—­and Sue Minty got ten.  They’re all buzzing about it down in our street, and going to Sam McFaddon’s office in a stream.”

“Do they have good luck at Sam McFaddon’s?” asked Mrs. Bray, with considerable interest in her manner.

“It’s the luckiest place that I know.  Never dreamed of a cow or a hen that I didn’t make a hit, and I dreamed of a cow last night.  She was giving such a splendid pail of milk, full to the brim, just as old Spot and Brindle used to give.  You remember our Spot and Brindle, Fan?”

“Oh yes.”  There was a falling inflection in Mrs. Bray’s voice, as if the reference had sent her thoughts away back to other and more innocent days.

The two women sat silent for some moments after that; and when Pinky spoke, which she did first, it was in lower and softer tones: 

“I don’t like to think much about them old times, Fan; do you?  I might have done better.  But it’s no use grizzling about it now.  What’s done’s done, and can’t be helped.  Water doesn’t run up hill again after it’s once run down.  I’ve got going, and can’t stop, you see.  There’s nothing to catch at that won’t break as soon as you touch it.  So I mean to be jolly as I move along.”

“Laughing is better than crying at any time,” returned Mrs. Bray; “here are five more;” and she handed Pinky Swett another bank-bill.  “I’m going to try my luck.  Put half a dollar on ten different rows, and we’ll go shares on what is drawn.  I dreamed the other night that I saw a flock of sheep, and that’s good luck, isn’t it?”