To judge by the way Poppie came a yard nearer, she did not seem at all satisfied by the assurance.
"Look here, Poppie. There's a little girl—you know her—Mattie—she's lying very ill here, and I can't leave her. Will you take this letter for me—to that big house in Wyvil Place—to tell them I can't come to-day?"
"They'll wash me," said Poppie, decisively.
"Oh, no, they won't again, Poppie. They know now that you don't like it."
"They'll be giving me something I don't want, then. I know the sort of them."
"You needn't go into the house at all. Just ring the bell, and give the letter to the servant."
Poppie came close up to Lucy.
"I'll tell you what, lady: I'm not afraid of him. He won't touch me again. If he do, I'll bite worser next time. But I won't run errands for nothink. Nobody does, miss. You ain't forgotten what you guv me last time? Do it again, and I'm off."
"A good wash, Poppie—that's what I gave you last time."
"No, miss," returned the child, looking up in her face beseechingly. "You know as well as me." And she held up her pretty grimy mouth, so that her meaning could not be mistaken. "Old Mother Flanaghan gave me a kiss once. You remember her gin-bottle, don't you, miss?" she added, still holding up her mouth.