"Do tell me what you made first. I ha' a mind to have a new beat--what will you sell me yourn for?" "Sell my beat?" said Bet--"my beat, what mother bought for me? Not quite." She turned on her heel, and walked down the street. At the corner, to her great annoyance and vexation, she met her father. He was quite sober, and came up to her at once and put his hand through her arm. His small eyes looked keenly into her face. When he was sober he was more or less afraid of Bet. "So you give me the slip, my gel!" he said. "But I'm a bit too cute for that sort of game. You'd better tell me where you ha' put those two little boys of mine. They're my boys, not yourn, you may as well understand. Where have you them hiding, Bet? I'll find out; so you may as well tell me." "I don't mind telling you, father. They're with Mother Bunch in Paradise Row--she have the care of them now. And, listen, father--they're going to stay there. Ef you want the boys, you must get round Mother Bunch first." Granger's face grew purple. For some reason, this piece of information was most disconcerting to him. "You're a wicked, ungrateful gel," he said. "You don't honor your parents--you don't respect 'em as has been put over you by Providence. You're a bad 'un, you are, Bet Granger; and you'll come to no good end. Them boys are mine, not yourn; and, for that matter, you are mine too--you ain't of age, you know." "No, I'm not of age," said Bet, in a quiet voice. "But the boys are with Mother Bunch, and they'll stay there. Ef you really tries to get 'em away I ha' quite made up my mind what to do." "And what's that, if I may be so bold as to ask?" inquired Granger, in a taunting voice. "Father, there's people here--yes, here, in this great bad Liverpool--who help children when they are treated cruel. If you try to get at the boys I'll take 'em to the Refuge, and I can tell the people there one or two things about you what won't sound too nice." This last frank statement on Bet's part was even more disagreeable to Granger than her first piece of news. He saw that his daughter was stronger and had a better case than he could possibly have given her credit for. This discovery did not, strange to say, increase his anger. His manner became quiet, and almost deferential. "Look you here, Bet--what's the good of argufying, and angering a fellow what's your own father? You wouldn't stay in Paradise Row but for me--now, would you, Bet? It ain't the place a likely girl like you would fancy--is it, Bet?" "I'm going to stay there," said Bet; "it's no question of like or not like. Mother Bunch's, Paradise Row, is where I'm to be found, ef I'm wanted."