The child paid no heed to this, but
continued to stare. Then in another minute she again bent forward, and
tapped the old gentleman's knee.
This time she fetched a louder growl from him, and an irascible glare.
Not in the least daunted, she took hold of his malacca, and shook it
to and fro in her small hand.
"I wish to heavens, madam, you'd keep your child to yourself!"
"For shame, Annie!" whispered the poor woman, cowed by his look.
But again Annie paid no heed. Instead, she pushed the malacca towards
the old gentleman, saying--
"Please, sir, will 'ee warm Mister Barrabel wi' this?"
He moved uneasily, and looked harshly at her without answering. "For
shame, Annie!" the woman murmured a second time; but I saw her lean
back, and a tear started and rolled down her cheek.
"If you please, sir," repeated Annie, "will 'ee warm Mister Barrabel
wi' this?"
The old gentleman stared round the carriage. In his eyes you could
read the question, "What in the devil's name does the child mean?" The
robust woman read it there, and answered him huskily--
"Poor mite! she's buried her father this mornin'; an' Mister Barrabel
is the coffin-maker, an' nailed 'en down.
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