“When the curtain fell, our manager came forward and patted the child’s head. ‘Why, my little girl,’ said he, ‘you are quite a genius. Your gag is the best thing in the piece. We must have it in every night. But, my child, you mustn’t drink the whisky. No, no! that would never do.’
“‘Oh, sir, indeed I won’t; I give you my word I won’t!’ she said quite earnestly, and ran to her dressing-room.
“‘Cramond Brig’ had an unprecedented run of six nights, and the little lady always got her thimbleful of whisky, and her round of applause. And each time I noticed that she corked up the former safely in the snuff-box. I was curious as to what she could possibly want with the spirit, and who she was, and where she came from. I asked her, but she seemed so unwilling to tell, and turned so red, that I did not press her; but I found out that it was the old story—no mother, and a drunken father.
“I took a fancy to the little thing, and wished to fathom her secret, for a secret I felt sure there was. After the performance, I saw my little body come out. Poor little child! there was no mother or brother to see her to her home. She hurried up the street, and turning into the poorest quarter of the town, entered the common stair of a tumbledown old house. I followed, feeling my way as best I could. She went up and up, till in the very top flat she entered a little room. A handful of fire glimmering in the grate revealed a sickly boy, some two years her junior, who crawled towards her from where he was lying before the fire.
“‘Cissy, I’m glad you’re home,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never come.’
“She put her arms round him, laid the poor little head on her thin shoulder, and took him over to the fire again, trying to comfort him as she went.
“The girl leaned over and put her arms round him, and kissed him; she then put her hand into her pocket and took out the snuff-box.
“‘Oh, Willie, I wish we had more, so that it might cure the pain.’
“Having lighted a dip candle, she rubbed the child’s rheumatic shoulder with the few drops of spirit, and then covered up the little thin body, and, sitting before the fire, took the boy’s head on her knee, and began to sing him to sleep.
“I took another look into the room through the half-open door; my foot creaked; the frightened eyes met mine. I put my finger on my lips and crept away.