As it was some way to Pet Salt’s boat, Nan was tired by the time she reached the Ship and would have gone in and rested there had she not been beset by a pack of young urchins, Tant Pullen and little Red among them, who danced round her in a ring calling “Witch!” and “Devil’s Aunt!” and so forth.
The old woman—for she looked old—laid about her vigorously with her stick and as she was very strong soon prevented them from barring her way, but they followed her for a long distance along the wall.
Pet Salt lifted a tousled head above the hatchway, sniffed the cool clean salt air, and shivered. Then hastily wrapping a piece of old sail-cloth round her mouth and nose she scrambled on to the dirty deck and hurried across to a heap of kegs piled up high. Under these she at last unearthed a partially full one and hugging it to her bosom ran back to the hatchway, her bare feet sounding oddly on the rotten boards.
It was at this moment that Nan tapped on the side of the boat with her stick and shouted in tones loud enough to awaken the seven sleepers.
“Ho, there, you dirty ronyon, come out, come out, Pet Salt, Heaven blast ye!”
At the sound of her voice Pet dropped the keg she was carrying and tearing the sail-cloth from her face hobbled over to the side and looked down.
“What! you round here, you hell-cat, sneaking a look at your love, I suppose, you old——”
A stream of unprintable language broke from her ragged lips.
Nan, leaning heavily on her long stick, gazed upward and when Pet paused for breath she began to talk in her big booming voice.
“What have ye been doing with my god-daughter, you stealer of loves?” she shouted.