"Why not?" said Winthrop.
"Mustn't!"
"Why mustn't you?"
"'Cause."
"Come in," said Winthrop, — and to Elizabeth's exceeding astonishment he laid hold of the little black shoulder and drew the girl into the shop, — "it is going to storm hard; — why mustn't you?"
The little blackey immediately squatted herself down on the ground against the wall, and looking up at him repeated,
"'Cause."
"It's going to be a bad storm; — you'll be better under here."
The child's eyes went out of the door for a moment, and then came back to his face, as if with a sort of fascination.
"How far have you to go?"