"I'll tell you somethink," rejoined Sally quietly and solemnly; "but you mustn't tell him, or he'd beat me."
"I won't tell him, my child."
"I don't think," sobbed Sally, "as he's any good."
"Why?"
"It was him as made father ill, and him as made mother poor. And last night, when I was abed, pretending to be asleep, I sor him eating up all the bread and drinking up all the tea. And when he went away, mother cried and cried."
Many moments passed in silence. Then Seth rose, and lit a candle, Sally following his movements with undisguised anxiety.
"Look about you, Sal."
Sally gazed with longing, admiring eyes at the treasures of the cellar, which was a veritable Aladdin's cave in her sight. It was with difficulty she removed her eyes from the aquarium, which was something so entirely outside her experience as to make it a marvel indeed.
"Here's my bed, Sally; and here's my cupboard; and here's my frying-pan and saucepan and kettle, all clean and tidy." As he seemed to expect an answer, Sally nodded. "Now here," he continued, lifting a blanket which, hung on a line, divided off a portion of the cellar, "is a place where two children might sleep, supposing such an out and out-of-the-way circumstance should ever occur to Seth Dumbrick as taking two ready-made, mischievous girls----"
"Oh, no," interrupted Sally positively, "not mischievous. Good."