“’Deed I’d sooner do it, sir, than see him eat up alive. But please, sir, if so be I might make so bold——”
“Yes, yes, to be sure. Go on.”
—“The shops is all open yet, sir, and if so be as you could send out and buy him a little clean blanket—a coarse one would do—I could make him a pallet in the corner of the room and cover him over with his own little mantle,” said Meg.
“Well thought of, my girl. How much will it take to buy?” required Everage, for his funds were very, very low.
“A crown would do it—maybe less.”
“Can you do this errand for me, my man?” inquired Everage, turning to Black Bill.
“If your honor wills; but it will take seven shillings at the least,” said the ruffian.
Everage produced the required amount and handed it ever to the man, who arose and lounged out of the room.
“And now I must not forget this,” said Everage, picking up a bundle he had brought in with him, unrolling it, and displaying a full suit of baby’s clothing, including the night gown, all of the cheapest and plainest material, faded and patched, but perfectly clean: for it belonged to his own little two-year-old Clara, and had been privately taken from his wife’s bureau drawer. “He must not remain in his fine clothes lest he should be accidentally seen. Put this night-gown on him to-night, and to-morrow dress him in this suit; and be sure to hide away or destroy the others. Do you understand?” he inquired, as he passed the bundle over to Meg.
“Yes, please, sir.”