Mrs. Granger died between five and six in the morning; and when the breath had quite left her body Bet arose, stretched herself,--for she was quite stiff from sitting so long in one position,--and going downstairs, woke a neighbor who occupied a room on the next floor. "Mrs. Bennett, my mother is dead; can you take care of the Cap'n and the Gen'ral this morning? I'll pay you for it when I sell my papers to-night." Mrs. Bennett was a wrinkled old woman of about sixty-five. She was deeply interested in tales of death and calamity, and instantly offered not only to do what she could for the boys, but to go upstairs and assist in the laying out of the dead woman. "No, no; I'll do what's wanted myself," replied Bet; "ef you'll take the boys I'll bring them down asleep as they are, and I'll be ever so much obligated. No, don't come upstairs, please. Father'll be in presently, and then him and me and mother must be alone; for I've a word to say to father, and no one must hear me." Bet went back to the room where her mother had died. She was very tired, and her limbs were stiff and ached badly after the long night's vigil she had gone through. No particular or overwhelming grief oppressed her. On the whole, she had loved her mother better than any other human being; but the time for grief, and the awful sense of not having her to turn to, had not yet arrived; she was only conscious of a very solemn promise made, and of an overpowering sense of weariness. She lay down on the bed beside the dead woman, and fell into a sound and dreamless slumber. In about an hour's time noisy steps were heard ascending the stairs. The little boys, cuddling close to one another in Mrs. Bennett's bed, heard them, and clasped each other's hands in alarm; but Bet sound, very sound, asleep did not know when her father reeled into the room. He had been out all night--a common practice of his--and he ought to have been fairly sober now, for the public-houses had been shut for many hours, but a boon companion had taken him home for a private carouse. He was more tipsy than he had ever been known to be at that hour of the morning, and consequently more savage. He entered the room where his dead wife and his young daughter lay, cursing and muttering,--a bad man every inch of him--terrible just then in his savage imbecility. "Bet," he said, "Bet, get up. Martha, I want my cup of tea. Get it for me at once--I say, at once! I'm an hour late now for the docks, and Jim Targent will get my job. I must have my tea,--my head's reeling! Get up, Martha, or I'll kick you!" "I'll get you the tea, father," said Bet. She had risen instantly at the sound of his voice. "Set down in that chair and keep still; keep still, I say--you'd better." She pushed him on to a hard wooden chair, shaking him not a little as she did so.