Flower, who had come up close to the threshold of the hut, now drew back a step or two. At sight of the woman her courage had revived, her feeling of extreme loneliness had vanished, and a good deal of the insolence which often marked her bearing had in consequence returned to her.
“I won’t go in,” she said. “It looks dirty in there and I hate dirt. No, I won’t go in! Bring me some food out here, please. Of course I’ll pay you.”
“Highty-tighty!” said the woman. “And is wee babby to stay out in the cold night air?”
“I forgot about the baby,” said Flower. “Give her to me. Is the night air bad for babies?” she asked, looking up inquiringly at the great rough woman who stood by her side.
Flower’s utter and fearless indifference to even the possibility of danger had much the same effect on Mrs. Jones that it had upon her son. They both owned to a latent feeling of uneasiness in her presence. Had she showed the least trace of fear; had she dreaded them, or tried in any way to soften them, they would have known how to manage her. But Flower addressed them much as she would have done menials in her kitchen at home. The mother, as well as the son, muttered under her breath—“Never see’d such a gel!” She dropped the baby into Flower’s outstretched arms, and answered her query in a less surly tone than usual.
“For sure night air is bad for babes, and this little ’un is young. Yes, werry young and purty.”
The woman pulled aside the white fluffy shawl; two soft clear brown eyes looked up at her, and a little mouth was curved to a radiant smile.
“Fore sure she’s purty,” said the woman. “Look, Patrick. She minds me o’—well, never mind. Missy, it ain’t good for a babe like that to be out in the night air. You’re best in the house, and so is the babe. The dawgs shan’t touch yer. Come into the house, and I’ll give yer what supper’s going, and the babe, pretty crittur, shall have a drink of milk.”
“I would not injure the baby,” said Flower. She held both arms firm round it, and entered the smoky, dismal hut.
The wife of Micah Jones moved a stool in front of the fire, pushed Flower rather roughly down on it, and then proceeded to cut thick hunches of sour bread and cheese. This was quite the coarsest food Flower had ever eaten, and yet she never thought anything more delicious. While she ate the woman sat down opposite her.