"Nobody knowed at fust. Aunty does Mrs. Macrory's washing, and a lot more besides, and the things gits mixed sometimes. Aunty can't 'elp that--'ow can she? So Mrs. Macrory's things was took 'ome without the peddicut. Mrs. Macrory she meets aunty at the Jolly Sailor Boy, and begins to kick up about it. 'Where's my peddicut?' she ses. ''Ow should I know?' ses aunty. Then, wot d'yer think? Mrs. Macrory sees somethink sticking out of aunty's dress be'ind, and she pulls at it. 'Why,' she ses, 'you've got it on!' That's wot the row wos about. Aunty didn't know 'ow it come on 'er--she's ready to take 'er oath on that. Aint it rum?" "Very rum. Put out the fire, Prissy. It is time for all good people to get to bed." In the performance of this duty Prissy was compelled to remove her hand from her face, and when she rose from the floor it was seen that her right eye was sadly discolored, and that she was in pain. "O Prissy, poor child!" exclaimed Rachel; "you have been hurt!" "Yes, mum," said Prissy. "Mrs. Macrory's gal--she's twice as big as me; you should see 'er legs! she ses, 'You're in that job,' she ses, meaning the peddicut; and she lets fly and gives me a one-er on account." Rachel ran upstairs, and brought down a bottle of gillard water, with which she bathed the bruise, and tied one of her clean white handkerchiefs over it. Prissy stood quite still, her lips quivering; it may have been the gillard water that filled the girl's unbandaged eye with tears. "That will make you feel easier," said Rachel. "Blow out the candles now, and be here at half-past eight in the morning." "I'll be sure to be," said Prissy with a shake in her voice. In the dark Aaron Cohen heard the sound of a kiss. "Good-night, sir," said the girl. "Good-night, Prissy," said Aaron. The chain of the street door was put up, and the shutters securely fastened, and then Aaron and Rachel, hand in hand, went up the dark stairs to their room. "My dear," said Aaron drowsily a few minutes after he and his wife were in bed, "are you asleep?" "No, Aaron," murmured Rachel, who was on the borderland of dreams. "I've been thinking"--he dozed off for a moment or two--"I've been thinking----" "Yes, my dear?" "That I wouldn't give Prissy's aunt any flannel petticoats to wash." Almost before the words had passed his lips sleep claimed him for its own. CHAPTER XIV. A PROCLAMATION OF WAR.