“I’ll try to, dearie,” said Poll; “I’m werry cold though. It’s late, ain’t it, honey? Seems as ef the place was werry dark.”
“Dark,” said the child, “it’s broad day; why, the sun’s shining all over us. Oh, my word, I’m melting up with the heat; and you’re no light weight, missis, I can tell yer.”
“Let me grip hold on yer ’and,” said Poll. “What street are we in now?”
“What street?” laughed the child; “why we’re in the street as we started in; we ain’t gone the length of Sulphur Row.”
“Oh, my God!” said Poll, “I thought as we were hours walking, and that the night had come; you must let me lean up against somethink, for I can’t see.”
“My thruppence first,” said the child.
Poll tried to fumble in her pocket; a waggon was heard lumbering down the street behind them. The driver shouted to the child and woman to get out of the way.
“Oh, missis, come, come!” screamed the little girl; “you’re standing in the road—you’ll be run over—let me pull yer on the path leastways.”
Poll with a great effort staggered forward. The waggon rushed by, almost grazing her feet.
The next instant the poor creature lay prone on the pavement, all consciousness having left her. The child uttered a cry and the usual crowd collected round the prostrate woman.