"That is the woman I engaged," said Rachel, hurrying into the passage.
There entered, not Mrs. Hawkins, but a very small girl, carrying a very large baby. The baby might have been eighteen months old, and the girl ten years; and of the twain the baby was the plumper.
Without "With your leave" or "By your leave," the small girl pushed past Rachel before the astonished woman could stop her, and presented herself before the no less astonished Aaron Cohen. Her sharp eyes took in the lighted candles, the cheerful fire, and the master of the house in one comprehensive flash. With some persons what is known as making up one's mind is a slow and complicated process, with the small girl it was electrical. She deposited the large baby in Aaron's lap, admonishing the infant "to keep quiet, or she'd ketch it," blew out the candles in two swift puffs, and, kneeling before the grate, proceeded to rake out the coals. So rapid were her movements that the fender was half filled with cinders and blazing coals before Rachel had time to reach the room.
"In Heaven's name," cried Aaron, "what is the meaning of this?"
"It's all right, sir," said the small girl, in the dark; "I've come for aunty."
"Put down the poker instantly!" exclaimed Aaron. "Your aunty, whoever she may be, is not here."
"Tell me somethink I don't know," requested the small girl. "This is Mr. Cohen's, the Jew, ain't it?"
"It is," replied Aaron, with despairing gestures, for the baby was dabbing his face with hands sticky with remnants of sugarstuff.
"Well, wot are yer 'ollering for? I'm only doing wot aunty told me."
"Mrs. 'Orkins. Pretend not to know 'er--do! Oh yes, jest you try it on. Aunty's up to yer, she is. She sed yer'd try to do 'er out of 'er money, and want 'er to take fippence instid of tenpence."
"Did she? You have come here by her orders, I suppose?"
"Yes, I 'ave; to poke out the fire and blow out the candles, and I've done it."
"You have," said Aaron, ruefully. "And now, little girl, you will do as _I_ tell you. Put down that poker. Get up. Feel on the mantelshelf for a box of matches. I beg your pardon, you are too short to reach. Here is the box. Take out a match. Strike it. Light the candles. Thank you. Last, but not least, relieve me of this baby with the sticky hands."