"Isn't you tramps an' gipsies—you an' him?" asked Joan innocently. "Will you put us in a bag an' carry us away wif you?"
"There! take that for yer impidence," and Moll dealt the child a smart slap on her delicate cheek, which made the little one wince with pain and terror. "Tramps an' gipsies indeed! I'll learn you another lesson, I'm thinkin', afore you're many days older."
"Well done, my lass!" cried her husband proudly, for Moll was rising to the occasion even better than he had expected. She had a soft spot somewhere in her heart, had Moll, although it was pretty well crusted over with wickedness and worldliness, and sometimes she seemed a little disgusted with Joe and his shady ways. She could do very well when she chose, however. She was, when she pleased, an out-and-out helpmeet, and now she was excelling herself. It was the prospect of the claret silk and the diamond ring, her better half believed.
"How dare you slap my sister?" cried Darby, darting forward with flashing eyes and crimson cheeks, and laying violent hands on Moll's gown. But Mr. Harris pulled him roughly off, clapping upon the boy's quivering lips a great, dirty, grimy hand.
"Darby! Darby! make her let me go!" Joan cried piteously; but Darby was powerless to come to the rescue. "Don't you know," she continued, addressing her captor, "we're goin' to the Happy Land? Didn't Darby tell you? Well, we are; an' if we doesn't hurry fast, we won't find our way to-night."
"Indeed! An' does yer pa an' yer ma know where ye are?" asked Moll curiously, seeing that Joan was freer with her tongue than her brother.
"We never had no pa an' ma. We once had a faver an' a muver," Joan admitted, "if them's what you mean. But muver's away livin' wif God, an' daddy's gone in the big, big ship over the sea, an' lefted Darby an' me all alone," she added, in a piteous little whine. "Daddy's a solger-man, an' wears a wed coat an' a shiny sword."
Mr. Harris heard this statement with feelings of relief. So he was right after all: the kids were practically orphans. Their friends, if they had any, must be mighty careless, argued Joe, and he could do with his captives as he pleased, and nobody bother much about them—unless the Tommy from Africa should turn up some fine day. But there were so many chances against that contingency that it was not worth thinking about.
"Ay, an' it's for the Happy Land ye're bound!" he cried in ridicule. "Well, it's a goodish bit from here, so we'd best be movin'. I'm about tired o' this foolin', anyway, an' I'm wantin' my supper. Come on!" and he gripped Darby's delicate little hand more tightly than before.
"Let me go!" demanded the boy indignantly. "We don't know you, and we don't want to go with you.—Sure we don't, Joan?"