"I got a friend comin' presently. 'E's quite a 'andy young feller, _an'_ tender-'earted: 'e won't leave yer like this, no fear. . . . But, o' course, it'll be a shock to 'im, 'appenin' in upon us an' findin'-- well, so much _more_'n 'e expected. I'm thinkin' 'ow to break it to 'im gently, 'ere in the dark." Tilda considered for a while. "It might 'elp if I knew yer name. 'Twouldn' be fair--would it?--to start off that we'd got a surprise for 'im, an' would 'e guess?" "He'll find out, fast enough, when he strikes a light," said the Fat Lady between resigned despair and professional pride. "But my name's Mrs. Lobb, when you introjuice him." "Widow?" "I don't know why you should suppose it." "No," said Tilda after musing a moment; "there ain't no real reason, o' course. On'y I thought--An' you not mentionin' a nusband, under the circumstances." To her astonishment, Mrs. Lobb gave way and shook with mountainous sobs. "I'm a maiden lady," she confessed, "and I'll conceal it no longer, when, God knows, I may be lyin' here punished for my vanity. . . . But 'twasn't all vanity, neither: it sounded more comfortable. If it had been vanity, I'd ha' chosen Montmorency or St. Clair--not Lobb. Wouldn't I now? . . . Of course, you won't understand, at your age; but there's a sort of _sheltered_ feelin'. An' I'm a bundle of nerves. You should see me," wound up Mrs. Lobb enigmatically, "with a mouse." But at this moment Tilda whispered "'Ush!" Someone was stealthily lifting the vallance. "Is that you, Sam?" she challenged. "Aye, aye, missie. All safe?" "_And_ snug. . . . Can yer risk striking a match? Fact is, we got a lady friend 'ere, an' she wants yer 'elp badly." Sam struck a sulphur match. "Good Lord!" he breathed, staring across the blue flame, and still as he stared his eyes grew larger and rounder. "'Er name's Lobb," explained Tilda. "I oughter a-told yer." "'Ow did it 'appen?" asked Sam in an awed voice. "Igsplosion," said the Fat Lady. "Is--is there _goin'_ to be one?" The match burned low in Sam's trembling fingers, and he dropped it with an exclamation of pain. "There _was_ one," said the Fat Lady. "At Gavel's roundabouts. Leastways, the folks came chargin' into my tent, which is next door, cryin' out that the boiler was blowin' up. I travel with Gavel, sir--as his Fat Lady--" "Oh!" Sam drew a long breath. "Which, when I heard it, sir, and the outcries, I burst out through the back of the tent--bein' a timorous woman--and ran for shelter. My fright, sir, I'll leave you to imagine. And then, as I crawled under the boards here, a dog flew at me--and bein' taken unawares--on all fours, too--I rolled over with my legs twisted--and here I am stuck. There's one joist pinnin' my left shoulder, and my leg's jammed under another; and stir I cannot." Sam lit another match.