“Not ’fore ten or ’leven. It’s a great long wide; and Bwidget is goned, too.”
“Got any dog?” asked the tramp, emptying the cake-basket, much to Maybee’s discomfiture.
“No; my hasn’t got any dog, ’cept Buff, and her’s a cat. An’ we can’t say ‘Have some more,’ ’cause you’s eat it all up. Guess you forgot my cup; mos’ put it in your pocket, didn’t you? S’pose you must go now. Call again, thank you.”
“Wasn’t he horrid?” said Sue. “I don’t believe you ought to have talked to him at all.”
“Guess my has to be polite; guess my mamma makes me politerest to poor folks,” said Tod.
“How he did look at things! S’pose he thought it was pretty nice,” said Maybee, tossing head very much like Bell Forbush.
“Well, he’s gone, and I’m thankful,” said Sue. “We won’t do the dishes because we might break something, and Bridget ought to be here pretty soon. I’ll lock up the silver in the side-board and keep the key till she comes. Don’t you think, the last time mother let her go, she stayed till the next day; but of course she won’t to-night.”
But ‘of course’ she did. Eight—nine—ten o’clock. The children shut the doors and lighted the lamps. Tod began to look sleepy and the older girls a little anxious. They tried to while away the time telling stories, and of course recalled all the horrible things they had ever heard. Each little heart gave a great thump when a loud rap sounded on the side door.
“It’s only me,” said a whining voice. “You’re such nice children, you’ll let a poor fellow in to stay all night, I know.”
“Why, it’s my man,” said Tod, wide awake. “Course, he’s got to stay somewheres nights.”