The boy was obliged to step along with great care, and to feel his way in front of him with his foot before planting it. A quarter of an hour had elapsed before he reached the habitation of the next squatter.
This was a ramshackle place put together of doors and windows fitted into walls, made of boards, all taken from ruinous cottages that had been pillaged, and their wreckage pieced together as best could be managed. Here Iver knocked, and the door was opened cautiously by an old man, who would not admit him till he had considered the information given.
"What do you say? A man murdered? Where? When? Are the murderers about?"
"They have run away."
"And what do you want me to do?"
"Would you mind taking in the poor little baby, and going to help
Master Bideabout Kink to carry the body down."
"Where to? Not here. We don't want no bodies here."
The old fellow would have slammed the door in Iver's face had not the boy thrust in foot and knee.
Then a woman was heard calling, "What is that there, Jamaica? I hear a babe."
"Please, Mrs. Cheel, here is a poor little creature, the child of the murdered man, and it has no one to care for it," said the boy.