“‘Cramond Brig’ had an unprecedented run of six nights, and the little lady always got her thimbleful of whisky, and her round of applause. And each time I noticed that she corked up the former safely in the snuff-box. I was curious as to what she could possibly want with the spirit, and who she was, and where she came from. I asked her, but she seemed so unwilling to tell, and turned so red, that I did not press her; but I found out that it was the old story—no mother, and a drunken father. “I took a fancy to the little thing, and wished to fathom her secret, for a secret I felt sure there was. After the performance, I saw my little body come out. Poor little child! there was no mother or brother to see her to her home. She hurried up the street, and turning into the poorest quarter of the town, entered the common stair of a tumbledown old house. I followed, feeling my way as best I could. She went up and up, till in the very top flat she entered a little room. A handful of fire glimmering in the grate revealed a sickly boy, some two years her junior, who crawled towards her from where he was lying before the fire. “‘Cissy, I’m glad you’re home,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never come.’ “She put her arms round him, laid the poor little head on her thin shoulder, and took him over to the fire again, trying to comfort him as she went. “The girl leaned over and put her arms round him, and kissed him; she then put her hand into her pocket and took out the snuff-box. “‘Oh, Willie, I wish we had more, so that it might cure the pain.’ “Having lighted a dip candle, she rubbed the child’s rheumatic shoulder with the few drops of spirit, and then covered up the little thin body, and, sitting before the fire, took the boy’s head on her knee, and began to sing him to sleep. “I took another look into the room through the half-open door; my foot creaked; the frightened eyes met mine. I put my finger on my lips and crept away. “But as I began to descend the stair I met a drunken man ascending—slipping and stumbling as he came. He slipped and stumbled by me, and entered the room. I followed to the landing unnoticed, and stood in the dark shadow of the half-open door. “A hoarse, brutal voice growled: ‘What are you doing there?—get up!’ “‘I can’t, father; Willie’s head is on my knees.’ “‘Get up!’ “The girl bowed her head lower and lower. “I could not bear it. I entered the room. The brute was on the bed already in his besotted sleep. The child stole up to me, and in a half-frightened whisper said, ‘Oh, sir, oughtn’t people to keep secrets, if they know them? I think they ought, if they are other people’s.’ This with the dignity of a queen.