"He'd 'a' took ye in."
"He'd 'a' druv me back to that 'sylum. He looked too good, that one. You looked like a baddie."
"Much obliged," he said, dryly.
"I guess you've done bad things," she said, inexorably. "You've stole pies, an' tole lies, an' fed dogs an' cats on the sly. I guess you've been found out."
The fat young man fell into a sudden reverie, and they passed several white fields in silence.
"They'll never ketch me," she said at last, gleefully; "we're goin' like the wind."
The young man looked down at her. She had the appearance of a diminutive witch as she sat with one hand clasping her faded hat, the other holding firmly to the bundle on her lap. Her countenance was so much older and shrewder in some phases than in others that the young man was puzzled to guess her age.
"Why, you ain't got any cloak," he said. "That's nothing but a dress you've got on, ain't it? Take the shawl off that dog."
"No, sir," she said, decidedly, "I don't do that."