"But, indeed," said Tim, pitifully, "it was me, upon my word. It was me, Mary. Just look--here's some of the crumbs left now;" and he pointed to a few splintery scales of paste lying upon the board. Mrs Ruggles gave a nod that might have meant anything. "I am sure you should not beat her so," whimpered Tim. "Beating does no good, and may hurt--" "Didn't I say I wouldn't have her talked about?" exclaimed Mrs Ruggles, in threatening tones. "And how do you know? If she didn't want whipping this time, it will do for next. Children are always doing something, and a good beating sometimes loosens their skins and makes 'em grow. You never had children to teach." "'Tain't my dooty to have children," muttered Tim. "What's that?" shouted Mrs Ruggles. "Now don't aggravate, you know I can't abear nagging." "I only said, my dear, that it wasn't my dooty to have children, but yours." Mrs Ruggles gave her husband a look composed of half scorn, half contempt--a side look, which, coming out of the corners of her eyes, was so sharpened in its exit that though Tim would not look up and meet it, he could feel it coming, and shivered accordingly. Meanwhile Mrs Ruggles took a bonnet from a peg, and putting it on, tied the strings tightly as if in suicidal intent, snatched herself into a shawl, and rummaged out a basket, preparatory to starting upon a marketing expedition. "Now then, don't grovel there, but go to your work," she shouted to the kneeling child, who bent before her as if she were the evil deity presiding over her fate. Then the child's hands dropped from before her mouth, as she flinchingly rose, and taking a copper lid from a side table, began with a piece of dirty rag to rub and polish the already bright metal, giving at the same time stealthy, furtive glances, first at Tim and then at Mrs Ruggles; while, in spite of every effort, a sob would swell her little breast, beat down her puny efforts, and burst forth, to make her shiver in dread of further blows. Volume 1, Chapter IX. THE NINTH PART OF A MAN. The room door closed upon Mrs Ruggles' rigid figure, her loud step, indicative of the woman's firmness, was heard upon the stairs, and then Tim and little Pine ceased from their tasks, and listened till an echoing bang announced the shutting of the front door, when, half rising and leaning forward, Tim dashed down the garment he was making, opened his arms--the child gave a series of bounds, and the next moment had buried her face in Tim's breast, winding her little bare arms about his neck, wringing her thin fingers as she clasped and unclasped them, moaning piteously the while. "Just what I expected," exclaimed Mrs Ruggles, in hard, sharp tones; and starting up, the guilty couple found that she had stolen back and softly opened the door. But the next instant the child had seized lid and rag, and Tim was busily stitching away at a piece of lining which belonged nowhere, as he looked confusedly in his wife's face.