"Tush, tush!" returned the old man, "thou dost not know; how shouldst thou?" Then he muttered again between his teeth, "The time must come—I am very sure it must. It will be all the better for coming late;" and then he sighed, and still holding the child between his knees, appeared to be insensible to everything around him. By this time it was very near midnight, and the Old Gentleman rose to go, a movement which recalled his host to himself.
"One moment, sir," he said.—"Now, Kit—near midnight, boy, and you still here! Get home, get home, and be true to your time in the morning, for there's work to do. Good-night!—There, bid him good-night, Nell, and let him be gone."
"Good-night, Kit," said the child, her eyes lighting up with merriment and kindness.
"Good-night, Miss Nell," returned the boy.
"And thank this gentleman," said the old man, "but for whose care I might have lost my little girl to-night."
"No, no, master," said Kit; "that won't do, that won't."
"What do you mean?" cried the old man.
"I'd have found her, master," said Kit; "I'd have found her if she was above ground. I would, as quick as anybody, master. Ha, ha, ha!"
Once more opening his mouth and shutting his eyes and laughing loudly, Kit gradually backed to the door and roared himself out.
When he had gone, and the child was busily clearing the table, the old man said,—