"When Molly worked here used you to come and see her?"
"On the sly, sir. Mr. Nesbit, Molly sed, wouldn't allow no followers, and nobody else come to the 'ouse that didn't 'ave no business there, so I 'ad to come unbeknown to 'im. One night I wos in the kitching when Molly 'eard 'im coming down. She 'id me quick be'ind the clothes 'orse, as 'ad some things drying. It was lucky for me and Molly that he didn't ketch sight of me, or he'd 'ave bundled us both out. My 'eart wos in my mouth all the time."
"Yes, sir; I peeped through the things and sor 'im."
"Quite the other, sir; but 'e spoke smooth to Molly."
"Once, sir, the same way, and I think she knew I wos 'iding, but she never sed nothink. She was the nicest looking young lady I ever sor."
"She sed she was going into the country with 'er master and Miss Beatrice, and that she wouldn't be away long. She give me some money, and promised to send me some more every week, but I aint 'eerd nothink of 'er from that day to this. There wos Mrs. Simpson, sir; she let me sleep in a corner of 'er room. She wos allus 'ard up, Mrs. Simpson wos, and two weeks after Molly wos gone she got into trouble, and went away, I don't know where to, and I'd no place to put my 'ead in. I walked about the streets and slep' in the park, and then I thought I'd come 'ere and wait for Molly. There wos nothink else for it, 'cause Mrs. Simpson 'ad cut 'er lucky, and Molly wouldn't know where else to look for me. It wos orfle lonesome 'ere at fust, and I wos frightened out of my life almost; but I got used to it after a bit, and it _wos_ a slice of luck, wosn't it, sir, that I found a place to sleep in without being arsked to pay no rent? Then there wos the coal cellar pritty well full of coals, and lots of wood to make a fire with. Daytime I'd go out selling matches, begging, doing anythink to make a honest penny, and it wosn't easy to do that, I can tell yer. But 'ere I am, no better off and no wus since I begun, and never found out till to-night."
"You must have managed very cleverly, Barbara."
"Oh, they don't make 'em much artfuller nor me," said the poor girl rather proudly. It was a pitiful boast from one who had suffered such hardships, and who, after years of struggle, presented so lamentable an appearance. "I aint told yer all, though," she continued eagerly. "I don't keep no count of the days 'xcept with bits of sticks--one stick, Monday, two sticks, Tuesday, three sticks, Wednesday, up to six sticks, Satterday, and then I know to-morrer's Sunday, and I begin all over again. Weeks I don't know 'ow to reckon, and that's why I can't tell 'ow long Molly's been away. I dessay it was three months when a Satterday night come--not the last by a good many--and I got 'ome as 'ungry as 'ungry could be, and not a ha'penny to get grub with. So wot do I do but prowl about on the chance of finding somethink that 'll 'elp me on. Molly used to sleep in the basement, next to the kitching, and there's a cupboard in the room. Wot 'yer think I found in that there cupboard on the top shelf, that I 'ad to stand on two chairs to git to? A wooden money-box, sir, that rattled as I shook it up. There wos letters outside wrote large by Molly, 'For Barbara.' Yer might 'ave knocked me down with a feather when I sor it, and I did tumble off the chairs and 'urt myself, but I 'ad the money box in my 'and for all that. It wos locked, and there wos no key, but I soon prised it open, and there it was, 'arf full of coppers that Molly'd been saving up for me, else she wouldn't 'ave wrote 'For Barbara' outside. Wosn't that good of Molly, sir?"