"'Ip trouble, ma'am. I been treated for it there these three weeks." "That is strange," said the lady. "You have been going there for three weeks, and yet you don't know your way?" "I been a in-patient. I was took there"--she was about to say "on a stretcher," but checked herself in time--"I was took there in the evenin' after dark. Father couldn' take me by day, in his work-time. An' this is my first turn as day-patient, an' that's why my brother 'ere is let off school to see me along," she wound up with a desperate rush of invention. "You don't live in my district? What's your father's name?" "No, ma'am. He's called Porter--Sam Porter, an' he works on the coal-barges. But I wouldn' advise you, I reely wouldn', because father's got opinions, an' can't abide visitors. I've 'eard 'im threaten 'em quite vi'lent." "Poor child!" "But I won't 'ave you say anything 'gainst father," said Tilda, taking her up quickly, "for 'e's the best father in the world, if 'twasn' fur the drink." The effect of this masterstroke was that the lady gave her a copper and let her go, wishing her a speedy recovery. The gift, although she took it, did not appear to placate Tilda. She hobbled up the next street with quickened pace, now and then muttering angrily. "Serves me right!" she broke out at length. "Bill--you don't know Bill, but 'e's the wisest man in the 'ole world, _an'_ the kindest, _an'_ the bestest. Bill would 'a-slapped my ear if 'e 'd 'eard me jus' now. Near upon gave the show away, I did, an' all through wantin' to 'ear somebody else tell what I knew a'ready. Never let nobody else make sure for you--that's one o' Bill's sayin's. Take warnin' by me, an' don't you ever forget it, Arthur Miles." The boy had not spoken all the way. He glanced at her timidly, and she saw that he did not understand. Also it was plain that the streets, with their traffic, puzzled him; at the approach of every passer-by he would halt uncertainly, like a puppy not yet way-wise. By-and-by he said-- "But if that's so, you must be my sister." "I'm not," said Tilda sharply. "What put it into your 'ead?" "You told the lady--" he began. "Eh? So I did. But that was all flam." He could make nothing of this. "I was kiddin' of 'er--tellin' what wasn' true," she explained. He walked forward a few steps with a frown--not disapproving, but painfully thinking this out. "And about the Hospital--wasn't that true either?" "Yes," Tilda nodded. "We're goin' to the 'orspital all right. That's why I came to fetch yer. There's someone wants to see yer, ever so bad." "I know about the Good Samaritan," announced the boy. Tilda stared. "I bet yer don't," she contradicted. "He found a man, a traveller, that some thieves had hurt and left by the road. Going down to Jericho, it was; and he poured oil and wine into his wounds."