girl,--she's tied to her mammy's apron-strings, he-he-he!"

The other girls all joined in the laugh; and Bet, who was standing
stolid and straight in the centre of the group, first flushed angrily,
then turned pale and bit her lips.

"I ain't funking," she said; "nobody can ever say as there's any funk
about me,--there's my share. Good-night."

She tossed a shilling on to the pavement, and before the astonished
girls could intercept her, turned on her heel and marched away.

A mocking laugh or two floated after her on the night air, then the
black-eyed girl picked up the shilling, said Bet was a "good 'un,
though she wor that contrairy," and the whole party set off singing
and shouting, up the narrow street of this particular Liverpool slum.

Bet, when she left her companions, walked quickly in the direction of
the docks; the pallor still continued on her brown cheeks, and a dazed
expression filled her heavy eyes.

"They clinched it when they said I wor a mammy's girl," she muttered.
"There ain't no funk in me, but there was a look about mother this
morning that I couldn't a-bear. No, I ain't a mammy's girl, not I.
There was never nought so good about me, and I have give away my last
shilling,--flung it into the gutter. Well, never mind. I ain't tied
to nobody's apron-strings--no, not I. Wish I wor, wish I wor."

She walked on, not too fast, holding herself very stiff and erect now.
She was a tall girl, made on a large and generous scale, her head was