"Ma's little hero-ine," she said fondly. "That's what ye get fer doin' good to that old sarpint. But you was cleared all right, wasn't ye? Thank the lady, Launkelot."
"Launkelot" dug his bare foot into the floor, and murmured a few words that might be interpreted as an expression of gratitude.
"He is thankful, though bashful at the present moment," explained Mrs. Canary gratefully. "He ain't usened to havin' young ladies in white dresses, with hair of tarnished gold, springin' out of the dark like flamin' seruphims to defend him."
"Oh, I happened to be sitting on this side of the shelf, and I couldn't help hearing what was said," answered the girl merrily.
"The shelf, is it?" asked Mrs. Canary, looking puzzled.
The girl laughed. "The piazza,—the porch, I mean. We call it the shelf over here, because it's only about wide enough to set a pan of milk on. We're your new neighbours, you know."
"Well, it's glad I am to meet you," said Mrs. Canary heartily. "Fridoline, be sure the babies' fingers ain't in that crack when you lean against that door. We're glad to make your acquaintance and thankful fer your defence of us: ain't we, Launkelot? You see I couldn't rise in defence of my own innercent blood as swift as usual—I was that surprised at finding out who it was he had hitten. It was bold of you to talk that way to his face,—the old villain!"
"Why, whom do you mean?" asked Miss Billy.
"That was Mr. Schultzsky, the landlord," said Mrs. Canary.