"Oh! she have money to pay?" said the wife of Micah Jones--for it was
she. "Them as has money to pay is oilers and oilers welcome. Come in,
and set you down by the fire, hinney. Well, well, and so you has brought
a babby with you! Give it to me, Pat. What do you know, you great
hulking feller! about the tending of babbies?"

The man gladly relinquished his charge, then pointed backwards with his
finger at Flower.

"She's cold and 'ungry, and she has money to pay," he said.

"Come in, then, Missy, come in; yer's a good fire, and a hunk of cheese,
and some brown bread, and there'll be soup by-and-by. Yes," winking at
her son, "there'll be good strong soup by-and-by."

Flower, who had come up close to the threshold of the hut, now drew back
a step or two. At sight of the woman her courage had revived, her
feeling of extreme loneliness had vanished, and a good deal of the
insolence which often marked her bearing had in consequence returned to
her.

"I won't go in," she said. "It looks dirty in there and I hate dirt. No,
I won't go in! Bring me some food out here, please. Of course I'll pay
you."

"Highty-tighty!" said the woman. "And is wee babby to stay out in the
cold night air?"

"I forgot about the baby," said Flower. "Give her to me. Is the night
air bad for babies?" she asked, looking up inquiringly at the great
rough woman who stood by her side.

Flower's utter and fearless indifference to even the possibility of
danger had much the same effect on Mrs. Jones that it had upon her son.
They both owned to a latent feeling of uneasiness in her presence. Had
she showed the least trace of fear; had she dreaded them, or tried in
any way to soften them, they would have known how to manage her. But
Flower addressed them much as she would have done menials in her kitchen
at home. The mother, as well as the son, muttered under her
breath--"Never see'd such a gel!" She dropped the baby into Flower's
outstretched arms, and answered her query in a less surly tone than
usual.

"For sure night air is bad for babes, and this little 'un is young. Yes,
werry young and purty."

The woman pulled aside the white fluffy shawl; two soft clear brown eyes
looked up at her, and a little mouth was curved to a radiant smile.

"Fore sure she's purty," said the woman. "Look, Patrick. She minds me
o'--well, never mind. Missy, it ain't good for a babe like that to be
out in the night air. You're best in the house, and so is the babe