"Five, master."
"Curse 'em!" growled the man.
"Shut up, Jim! The gentleman'll help us for the sake of the young 'uns, won't you, sir? They're sopping wet, master, and a-dying of hunger."
"If I allow you to occupy my room," I said, "and give you food and a fire, will you go away quietly when the sun rises?"
"There, Jim; didn't I tell you? We're in luck. Go away quiet when the sun rises, master? Yes, master, yes. Hope I may never see daylight again if we don't!"
"Come in," I said. "Follow me, and make as little noise as possible."
They followed me quietly to my room. Their eyes dilated when they saw the fire, upon which I threw a fresh supply of coals.
"God bless you, sir!" said the woman, drawing the children to the fire, before which the man was already crouching.
True enough, there were seven of them. Man, woman, and five children, the youngest a baby, the eldest not more than seven years of age. A gruesome lot. Starving, cunning, in rags; but there was a soft light in the woman's eyes; she was grateful for the warmth and the prospect of food. The man's eyes were watching me greedily.
"Where is it, master?"