"O, I thought you would have such common things," said Bessie; "but I have some money to buy them with."
At this, a tall figure sprang up from a heap of rags in a dark corner, and came forward,—a very dirty, disreputable-looking man. Bessie, who had taken him for a sick man, was surprised to see that he also had a fine color in his cheeks, and even in his nose, but she noticed that he seemed very weak in his legs. "Hello! my little angel," he cried; "give me the money," and rudely caught the porte-monnaie from Bessie's hand.
His right to it was disputed by the woman, and they two quarrelled over pennies, dimes, and dollars, as "the three darling little brothers" quarrelled over apples, nuts, and candies.
"Who is that man?" asked Bessie, beginning to be frightened.
"It's father," replied Molly.
"Why, you told me your father was dead. What makes you tell such stories?" exclaimed Bessie, greatly shocked.
"She makes me," said Molly. "May be you would tell stories, rather than be beaten half to death."
At last the disreputable-looking man, having secured the lion's share of the money, snatched up an old hat and staggered towards the door. He stopped a moment beside Bessie, saying, "I 'm obliged to you, darling. This will get me something good for Christmas."
"Some new clothes?" asked Bessie.
"No, miss; something better nor clothes."