She stopped, with a far-off pensive look. When she invented a story she had a natural gift for dramatic detail. She said very sadly, as if conjuring up the figure of a mournful child, sinking her voice to a whisper: "My mother drank. When she was in her tantrums she was very cruel to me--she beat me! I remember my poor little arms and legs all blistered and smarting! Then I used to run to Jocko--that was the funny old clown's name. He had three colors in his hair, red, white and brown--all natural, too! Jocko used to put a poultice on my wounds and give me candy. I loved old Jocko; he taught me the back-somersault, too. Then mother ran off with a dentist--one of the kind that travel around in a band-wagon from village to village, teeth-pullers, you know, and whenever a tooth is to be taken out the bass-drum goes off _bang!_ so you don't notice the pain. The dentist hated me! He was a horribly tall, long man with a broken nose. I can see him leering down at me like an ogre and saying: "'Soon as you get your second teeth, little brat, I'll make a fine set out of 'em, worth seventy plunks at the least. Just you wait!' "He used to pinch me and box my ears when mother wasn't looking!" She considered this phase thoughtfully, satisfied that she had done it justice, and said suddenly: "Then, one night, father turned up. Whew! that was a scene! He came up suddenly just as Crouch--that's the dentist--had finished with the cymbals and was beginning: "'Ladies and gentlemen, I come not to take your hard-earned money, but to do you good!' "He always began like that. I can see it all now--the kerosene lamps flaring below, the country crowd standing around, gaping, and all of a sudden a Spanish-looking man, broad-shouldered, pushing his way violently through them all, and then mother shrieking: "'My God! Crouch, it's Baxter!'" She drew a quick breath; the recital had made her tremble a little. He watched her closely, with that lantern stare with which he transfixed the accused at the bar, amazed at her exhibition, incredulous, and yet with a lingering wonder. "Mother got away," she said, resuming. "Crouch was laid up in a hospital for months, they told me. Father took me with him. He was very kind, very; but it was a terrible life; rough company, squabbling and shooting, no home, no rest, always taking French leave! Then he struck a run of luck and made enough to strike for Gold Fields and open a saloon--faro at the back. Gold Fields was worse. Every one drunk by eight o'clock at night; poker and faro until breakfast!" "And you saw all that?" he said gravely. "Yes, all!" she said simply, shaking her head. "Father dressed me up in red slippers and white stockings, red dress and mantilla, and rigged up a flower-booth for me--said it brought custom. And there I had to sit, so tired and sleepy, with all the vile tobacco smoke, and the men--black, red and white--shouting and singing. Once or twice I fell asleep."