This woman kept a small boathouse, with some half-dozen boats to rent, and took in small washings from the sailors upon the tugs in the river, and from this she made a good living and had managed to put by a little. She had but one friend, and that was the venerable Mrs. Higgins, and it was through the woman on the Island that these two women had met.
This night Biddy had come late from the prison, leaving poor Annie Standish nearer the grave than the good woman thought it possible to be.
“I will go in the morning again,” said she, “and I hope the bairn will be in better spirits.”
Then she tumbled over in the bed. Suddenly she raised her head. She heard a light tapping upon the window pane, and it seemed almost like the ticking of a clock.
Biddy listened again. It certainly was a signal of distress. She went cautiously to the window and looked out.
There was the shadow of a very tall man, and he was tapping upon her window.
“What do you want?” cried she loudly, knowing that no one could hear but the man.
“I want help for a poor wet child,” was the answer, and Biddy Roan’s door was thrown open, despite the fact that she stood in her night gown.
Tom Cooper staggered into the room under the weight of the heavily-breathing child.
“Where did you get it?” asked Biddy suspiciously, looking at the prison stripes.