Ten o'clock struck, and a knock at the door announced the faithful Prissy, come to put the fire out. She entered with the baby in her arms, sound asleep. She was flushed and excited, and she held her hand over the right side of her face. "Victoria ought to be a-bed," said Rachel, taking a peep at baby. "She can't go," retorted Prissy, "afore 'er mother's ready to take 'er." "Where is her mother?" asked Aaron. "At the Jolly Sailor Boy, enjying of 'erself." "Ah! And where is your aunt?" "At the Jolly Sailor Boy, too, 'aving a 'arf-quartern. There's been a reg'lar row there about Mrs. Macrory's flannin peddicut." "What happened to it?" "It went wrong. Yes, it did. Yer needn't larf. Call me a story, do! I would if I was you!" "No, no, Prissy," said Aaron, in a soothing tone. "How did the flannel petticoat go wrong?" "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 she begins to kick up about it. 'Where's my flannin 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 was about. Aunty didn't know 'ow it come on 'er--she's ready to take 'er oath on that. Ain't 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 discoloured, and that she was in pain. "Oh, 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 border-land of dreams.