"What business was it of yours? It wasn't your cat, was it?"
"No."
"It was my daughter's cat," said Mrs. Waters; "but she tells me she didn't throw her into the cistern. It's my belief that your little girl did it herself."
"Just as likely as not," said Martin, with a hiccough. "Hark you, miss," he continued, steadying himself by the table on which he rested his hand, for his head was not altogether steady, "I've got something to say to you, and you'd better mind what I say? Do you hear?"
Rose didn't answer.
"Do you hear, I say?" he demanded, in a louder tone, frowning at the child.
"Yes."
"You'd better, then, just attend to your own business, for you'll find it best for yourself. You've begun to cut up your shines pretty early. But you don't do it while I'm here. What are you snivelling about?"—for Rose, unable to repress her sorrow, began to sob. "What are you snivelling about, I say?"
"I want to go back, and live with Rufie and Miss Manning," said Rose. "Oh, do let me go!"
"That's a pretty cool request," said Martin. "After I've been so long hunting you up, you expect me to let you go as soon as I've got you. I don't mean to let you go back to Rufie," he said, mimicking the little girl's tone,—"not if I know it. Besides," he added, with a sudden thought, "I couldn't do it very well if I wanted to. Do you know where your precious brother is?"