The room door closed upon Mrs Ruggles' rigid figure, her loud step,
indicative of the woman's firmness, was heard upon the stairs, and then
Tim and little Pine ceased from their tasks, and listened till an
echoing bang announced the shutting of the front door, when, half rising
and leaning forward, Tim dashed down the garment he was making, opened
his arms--the child gave a series of bounds, and the next moment had
buried her face in Tim's breast, winding her little bare arms about his
neck, wringing her thin fingers as she clasped and unclasped them,
moaning piteously the while.
"Just what I expected," exclaimed Mrs Ruggles, in hard, sharp tones; and
starting up, the guilty couple found that she had stolen back and softly
opened the door. But the next instant the child had seized lid and rag,
and Tim was busily stitching away at a piece of lining which belonged
nowhere, as he looked confusedly in his wife's face.
"Call yourself a man!" exclaimed Mrs Ruggles, with that peculiar
bitterness so much used by women of her class. "Ah! I've a great mind
to!" she exclaimed again, looking sideways at little Pine, and making a
dash at the whalebone; "but I don't know which deserves it most."
The child set her teeth hard, and shrank towards the wall, while Tim
drew a long breath, and clutched the big iron by his side, though
without the slightest intention of using it for offence or defence.