“I am very hungry and very tired,” she said. “I will gladly rest in your mother’s cottage. Where is it?”
“I said as it wor a hut. There are two dawgs there: be you afeard?”
“Of dogs? I am not afraid of anything!” said Flower, curling her short lip disdainfully.
“You be a girl!” responded the man. He shambled on again in front, and presently they came in sight of the deserted hermit’s hut, where Polly and Maggie a few weeks before had been led captive. A woman was standing in the doorway, and by her side, sitting up on their haunches, were two ugly, lean-looking dogs.
“Down, Cinder and Flinder!” said the woman. “Down you brutes! Now, Patrick, what have you been up to? Whatever’s that in your arms, and who’s a-follering of yer?”
“This yer’s a babby,” said the man, “and this yer’s a girl. She,” pointing to Flower, “wants to be took to the nearest town, and she have money to pay, she says.”
“Oh! she have money to pay?” said the wife of Micah Jones—for it was she. “Them as has money to pay is oilers and oilers welcome. Come in, and set you down by the fire, hinney. Well, well, and so you has brought a babby with you! Give it to me, Pat. What do you know, you great hulking feller! about the tending of babbies?”
The man gladly relinquished his charge, then pointed backwards with his finger at Flower.
“She’s cold and ’ungry, and she has money to pay,” he said.
“Come in, then, Missy, come in; yer’s a good fire, and a hunk of cheese, and some brown bread, and there’ll be soup by-and-by. Yes,” winking at her son, “there’ll be good strong soup by-and-by.”