as the pieman had advised. It was as near the ships as possible. In fact it was actually under the shadow of a big black-looking vessel which loomed large through the fog, and to and from which men were coming and going as usual. With several of these the old woman interchanged some good-humoured chaff as she settled herself in her place, and bade me sit beside her.

“Tuck your legs under ye, agra! on that bit of an ould sack. Tis what I wrap round me shoulders when the nights do be wet, as it isn’t this evening, thank God! And there’s the coffee for ye.”

“Mother,” said I, “do you think you could sit so as to hide me for a few minutes? All the money

I have is in a bag round my neck, and I don’t want strangers to see it.”

“Ye’ll just keep it there, then,” replied Biddy, irately, “and don’t go an’ insult me wid the show of it.”

And she turned her back on me, whilst I drank my coffee, and ate some excellent cakes, which formed part of her stock-in-trade. One of these she insisted on my putting into my pocket “against the hungry hour.” I thanked her warmly for the gift, whereupon she became mollified, and said I was kindly welcome; and whilst she was serving some customers, I turned round and looked at the ship. Late as it was, people seemed very busy about her, rather more so than about any I had seen. As I sat, I was just opposite to a yawning hole in the ship’s side, into which men were noisily running great bales and boxes, which other men on board were lowering into the depths of the vessel with very noisy machinery and with much shouting in a sort of uncouth rhythm, to which the grating and bumping of the crane and its chains was a trifle. I was so absorbed by looking, and it was so impossible to hear anything else unless one were attending, that I never discovered that Biddy and I were alone again, till the touch of her hand on my head made me jump.

“I beg your pardon, Mother,” I said; “I couldn’t think what it was.”

“I ax yours, dear. It’s just the curls, and I’m the foolish woman to look at ‘em. Barrin’ the hair, ye don’t favour each other the laste.”

I had really heard a good deal about Micky, and was getting tired of him, and inclined to revert to my own affairs.

“Mother, do you know where this ship comes from?”

“I do not. But she sails with the morning for Halifax, I’m told. And that’s America way, and I insensed the cook—that was him that axed me where I bought my coffee—to have an eye out for Micky, in case he might come across him anywhere.”

America way! To-morrow morning! A storm of thoughts rushed through my head, and in my passionate longing for help I knelt up by the old Irishwoman and laid my hand upon hers.

“Mother dear, do help me! You are so kind, and you’ve a boy of your own at sea. I want to go to America, and I’ve no papers or anything. Couldn’t I stow away as Micky did? Couldn’t I stow away on this one? I can work well enough when they find me out, if I could only hide so as to get off; and you know the ships and the docks so well, you could tell me how, if only you would.”

I am always ashamed to remember the feeble way

in which I finished off by breaking down, though I do not know that I could have used any argument that would have gone so far with Biddy. If it had been a man who had been befriending me, I’m sure I shouldn’t have played the fool, but it was a woman, so I felt doubly helpless in having to depend on her, and she felt doubly kind, and, in short, I put my face in my hands and sobbed.

For quite four hours after this I was puzzled to death by smelling stale bad tobacco about myself; then I discovered that by some extraordinary jerk in the vehemence of the embrace which was Biddy’s first response to my appeal, the little black pipe had got out of her coat-pocket and tumbled down the breast of my slops.

I hope my breakdown was partly due to the infectious nature of emotion, of which Biddy was so lavish that my prospects were discussed in a sadly unbusiness-like fashion. My conscience is really quite clear of having led her to hope that I would look out for Micky on the other side of the Atlantic, but I fear that she had made up her mind that we should meet, and that this went far towards converting her to my views for stowing away on the vessel lying alongside of us. However, that important point once reached, the old woman threw herself into the enterprise with a practical knowledge of the realities of the undertaking

and a zest for the romance of it which were alike invaluable to me.

“The botheration of it is,” said Biddy, after some talk, tangling her bonnet and handkerchief over her face till I felt inclined to beg her to let me put her straight—“the botheration of it is, that it’s near to closing-time, and when the bell rings every soul’ll be cleared out, labourers and idlers, and myself among ‘em. Yell have to hide, me darlin’, but there’ll be no mighty difficulty in that, for I see a fine bit of tarpaulin yonder that’d consale a dozen of the likes of you. But there’s that fool of a watchman that’ll come parading and meandering up and down wid all the airs of a sentry on him and none of his good looks, and wid a sneaking bull’s-eye of a lantern in his hand. He’s at the end of the wharf now, purshuin’ to him! Maybe I’ll get him to taste a dhrop of me coffee before the bell rings. Many’s the cup I gave to the old watchman before him, peace to his sowl, the kindly craythur! that never did a more ill-natured thing on his beat than sleep like a child. Hide now, darlin’, and keep the tail of your eye at the corner where ye’ll see the ship. Maybe he’ll take a nap yet, for all his airs, and then there’s the chance for ye! And mind now, keep snug till the pilot’s gone as I warned ye, and then it’s the bold heart and the civil tongue, and just the good-nature of your ways, that’ll

be your best friends. The cook tells me the captain’s as dacent a man as iver he served with, so you might aisy do worse, and are not likely to do better. Are ye hid now? Whisht! Whisht!”

I heard most of this through a lifted corner of the tarpaulin, under which I had the good luck to secrete myself without observation and without difficulty. In the same manner I became witness to the admirable air of indifference with which Biddy was mixing herself a cup of coffee as the watchman approached. I say mixing advisedly, for as he came up she was conspicuously pouring some of the contents of the stone bottle into her cup. Whether this drew the watchman’s attention in an unusual degree, of course I do not know, but he stopped to say, “Good-evening, Biddy.”

“Good-evening to ye, me dear, and a nasty damp evening it is.”

“You’re taking something to keep the damp out, I see, missus.”

“I am, dear; but it’s not for a foine milithrary-looking man like yourself to be having the laugh at a poor old craythur with nothin’ but the wind and weather in her bones.”

“The wind and weather get into my bones, I can tell you,” said the watchman; “and I begin my work in the fog just when you’re getting out of it.”

“And that’s thrue, worse luck. Take a dhrop of coffee, allanna, before I lave ye.”

“No, thank ye, missus; I’ve just had my supper.”

“And would that privint ye from takin’ the cup I’d be offering ye, wid a taste of somethin’ in it against the damps, barrin’ the bottle was empty?”

“Well, I’m not particular—as you are so pressing. Thank ye, mum; here’s your good health.”

I heard the watchman say this, though at the moment I dared not peep, and then I heard him cough.

“My sakes, Biddy, you make your—coffee—strong.”

“Strong, darlin’? It’s pure, ye mane. It’s the rale craythur, that, and bedad! there’s a dhrop or