“My child,” she begins, in a dolorous voice, “when ye know us better, ye’ll think better of yer poor old folks. As fer Franz here, he’s been drinkin’ a little to-night, but he’s a good-hearted boy; don’t mind him.”
“No,” interrupts Franz, with a maudlin chuckle; “don’t mind me.”
“It’s a poor home yer come to, Leschen,” continues Mamma, “and a poor bed I can give ye. But we want to be good to ye, dear, an’ if ye’re really goin’ to stay with us, we’ll try an’ make ye as comfortable as we can.”
Leslie’s head droops lower and lower; she pays no heed to the old woman’s words.
“Poor child, she is tired out.”
Saying this, Mamma takes the candle from the table, and goes from the room quickly, thus leaving the three in darkness.
In another moment, the voice of Franz breaks out:
“Ain’t there another glim somewhere?”
By the time Mamma returns, a feeble light is sputtering upon the table, and Franz is awkwardly trying to force upon Leslie some refreshments from the choice supply left from their late repast. But she refuses all, and wearily follows Mamma from the room.
“Git yer rest now,” says Franz as she goes; “to-morrow we’ll talk over this young-un business.”