"Father will," she replied. "Yes, he will do that, but he will not write to ask me to return. He does not care what becomes of me. He never cared what I did when I left his house to fill a situation." Her nostrils enlarged, her eyes looked angry. A little blood visited her pale cheek. Hardy's memory pictured her father: a middle-sized man with pale, weak eyes, a chuckling laugh like the gurgle of liquor, much reference to his ships and to naval things in general, a large Micawber-like indifference to his existing circumstances, and a quality of talkativeness about outside matters, such as the queen, the trouble at Pekin, the discovery of the North Pole, which would make you think that he did not know what home worries were. "Bax," said Hardy, "may covertly send along to let them know you are here." "What of that?" she exclaimed. "If they were to send twenty men they would have to drag me to move me. I would not set foot in that house again if my stepmother lay dead in the gutter opposite the door. It is my father's fault." She bit her lip, stroked the kitten, and said, "Oh, it is hard upon a girl to have a bad father--a weak, selfish, foolish father." Here Bax came again with a tumbler full of autumn flowers. He placed them in the middle of the table and went out, looking nowhere, as if he walked in his sleep; but whilst the door lay open they heard the spitting of the frying-pan. "What are you going to do when you get to London?" said Hardy. "I mean to find a situation on board a ship," she answered. "What situation do you expect to find?" "I shall try to get a post as stewardess, or as an attendant upon a sick person. I cannot pay my passage out even in the steerage, therefore I must work." "Now, Miss Armstrong," said Hardy, stroking the kitten's head on her lap, "it is impossible for me to be rude to you because I want to be, and mean to be, your friend." She looked at him swiftly, and her eyes drooped. "Do not misjudge any questions I may put to you. How much money have you got?" "Seven pounds, twelve shillings, and--" she drew out a little purse, opened it, counted some coppers, and added, "fourpence." "What is that money going to do for you in London?" said Hardy, after a pause of pity. "It will support me," she answered, "until I have obtained a situation on board a ship." "Situations for girls on board ships are very few," said he. "What part of the world do you want to sail for?" "Anywhere, anywhere," she replied. "But it must be to some place where I can get a living." "It would not do to sail for China," he exclaimed. "India doesn't provide much for people whose wants are yours. It must be the Great Pacific colonies. Aren't there agents and institutions which help young girls to get away across the sea? This we will inquire into when we arrive in London." She looked at him gratefully, and was about to speak, but was interrupted by Miss Bax, who staggered in with a tray load. CHAPTER II. BAX'S FARM