"'Oh! here—here—here—my precious child, my sweet baby!' cried my poor mother—and then went on, 'It was all of you—you big brute—you—you pushed your own baby into the red-hot flames, as you were atrying to get at me!—yes, my baby—my poor—'
"'Don't speak so loud, good woman,' said the young lady, gently. 'Lay the child upon the bed,' turning round—'Bless me!—why, there is not a bed!'
"'We are very poor people, ma'am,' a woman began; 'not a penny to bless ourselves with. If you'd please to—'
"I remember my father's voice to this day—
"'Silence!' he called out, in such a passion, 'would you beg money from the lady to spend in more gin? Give 'em nothing, ma'am—give none of us nothing—only tell me what's to be done to save the poor little thing's life.'
"She hesitated, turned, and looked round the miserable apartment. Too true, there was not an apology for a bed; there was not even clean straw.
"'Take her up in your arms,' said she to my father, 'and follow me.' And she stooped and picked up her bonnet, and gathered her great shawl around her, and stepped out into the rainy, sleety, windy night; and my father—for some poor creature had lent an old shawl to throw over me—took me and carried me after her: and a turn of the alley which led into the court, brought us out into the street, where the apothecary's shop stood. I was carried through, and up two pair of stairs, and into a little mite of a room—but all so clean and nice—and laid, oh! in such a delicious bed—and oh! it felt so comfortable—it soothed me, like—and I fell fast asleep."
The two girls were silent for some time. Ella spoke first.
"What a good woman!" was the remark she made; "but was she only an apothecary's wife," she went on; "and was her name Stringer? What a horrid ugly name! Are you sure it was Stringer?"
"Yes, Miss—Stringer and Bullem—that was the name over the shop-door."