"What's the matter?"

"'Ip trouble, ma'am. I been treated for it there these three weeks."

"That is strange," said the lady. "You have been going there for three
weeks, and yet you don't know your way?"

"I been a in-patient. I was took there"--she was about to say "on a
stretcher," but checked herself in time--"I was took there in the
evenin' after dark. Father couldn' take me by day, in his work-time.
An' this is my first turn as day-patient, an' that's why my brother 'ere
is let off school to see me along," she wound up with a desperate rush
of invention.

"You don't live in my district? What's your father's name?"

"No, ma'am. He's called Porter--Sam Porter, an' he works on the
coal-barges. But I wouldn' advise you, I reely wouldn', because
father's got opinions, an' can't abide visitors. I've 'eard 'im threaten
'em quite vi'lent."

"Poor child!"

"But I won't 'ave you say anything 'gainst father," said Tilda, taking
her up quickly, "for 'e's the best father in the world, if 'twasn' fur
the drink."

The effect of this masterstroke was that the lady gave her a copper and
let her go, wishing her a speedy recovery. The gift, although she took
it, did not appear to placate Tilda. She hobbled up the next street