"Love you her childer?" "Dearly; for their sakes I must shake off this obnoxious misjudgment." He shrugged his shoulders as if the obloquy were a tangible load that could be shifted. "Hallam, the cripple, that's walked never a step since a diny dony thing, an' a bad nurse set him prone on the cold stones o' the nasty cellar house where her kind lived. That winter in the town, an' me mindin' the mistress with Miss Amy a babe. How could we watch all the time? He must have the air, what for no? An' her with a face as smooth as bees-wax. Down on the cold, damp stones she'd put him, whiles off with her young man she'd be trapesin', an' him made a cripple for life." "Yes, Cleena, I remember it all. And how, as Amy tells me, almost a fortune has been spent to restore him. But if ever I earn enough to try again, I'll never rest till every doctor in the world, who understands such things, shall tell me there is no hope." "Good lad. Aye, aye, _good lad_!" The gentleman looked at her in amazement. This had been the old servant's term of commendation when he had refrained from some of his youthful and natural mischievousness. She seemed to mean it just as earnestly now. Suddenly she leaned forward and placed her hands upon his knees. "Say it again, avick. You'd do all in your power for me darlin' Master Hallam, what for no?" "What idleness to ask! I would give anything in this world to see him cured." "The Kayes are aye proud, in troth. Yer honor, lad; _even yer honor_?" "Hmm, well--yes. Even my honor." "Hark to me." For five minutes thereafter Cleena talked, and not once did her listener interrupt. Her words were spoken in that sibilant whisper that is louder than ordinary speech, and not one of them was lost. When she had finished, she rose and demanded, laying her hand upon Mr. Kaye's shoulder:-- "Now, Mister Fred, will ye leave me gineral be?" "Yes, Cleena. For the present, till a final test comes, he shall be safe from any interference from me. I'll take him under my personal protection. I'll make myself his friend. He shall have a fair chance. If he fails--" "He'll no fail! he'll no fail, laddie! Such as him is the Lord's own. Whist, alanna, here he comes." Fayette approached the entrance, walking stealthily, and casting furtive glances toward that part of the building where the guest had hitherto remained. Apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, he crept to the door and tapped it twice. Cleena nodded her head, and Frederic Kaye opened to admit the boy, who would have retreated when he saw the stranger, had not his arm been caught and held so firmly he could not writhe himself free. "Leave me alone. What you doin'?" "Why, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you since Christmas night." "'Twasn't me. I never done it. Leave me be. Huckleberries! I'll smash ye!"