“’Cause she was more like a boy than a gal,—as sassy a child as I ever see.”
“So you have lost her?”
“Yes, your honor. She ran away from me two months since.”
“But you said you saw her yesterday. Why did you not take her back?”
“She wouldn’t come. She told the policeman she didn’t know me,—me that have took care of her since she was a little gal,—the ungrateful hussy!”
Granny’s pathos, it will be perceived, terminated in anger.
The lawyer looked thoughtful.
“The child must be got back,” he said. “It is only recently that her mother ascertained the treachery by which she was taken from her, and now she is most anxious to recover her. If you will bring her to me, you shall have a suitable reward.”
“How much?” asked granny, with a cunning look.
“I cannot promise in advance, but it will certainly be two hundred dollars,—perhaps more. Mrs. Lindsay will be generous.”