aimed the woman, whose
natural dogged courage seemed to be returning to her. 'What made me
leave every fardin' I had in the world with Poll Onion, when we
ommust wanted bread, an' go to Carnarvon on Shanks's pony? I sha'n't
tell ye. I comed by the gal 'onest enough, an' she never comed to no
'arm through me, less mendin' 'er does for 'er, and bringin' 'er to
London, and bein' a mother to 'er, an' givin' 'er a few baskets an'
matches to sell is a-doin' 'er any 'arm. An' as to beggin' she
_would_ beg, she loved to beg an' say texes.'

'Old kidnapper!' I cried, maddened by the visions that came upon me.
'How do I know that she came to no harm with a wretch like you?'

The woman shrank back upon the pillows in a revival of her terror.
'She never comed to no 'arm, p'leaceman. No, no, she never comed to
no 'arm through me. I'd a darter once o' my own, Jenny Gudgeon by
name--p'raps you know'd 'er, most o' the coppers did--as was brought
up by my sister by marriage at Carnarvon, an' I sent for 'er to
London, I did, pl'eaceman--God forgi'e me--an' she went wrong all
through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not seein' arter 'er, just as
my son Bob tookt to drink, through me bein' a drinkin' woman an' not
seein' arter _him_. She tookt and went from bad to wuss, bad to
wuss; it's my belief as it's allus starvation as drives 'em to it;
an' when she wur a-dyin' gal, she sez to me, "Mother," sez she,
"I've got the smell o' Welsh vi'lets on me ag'in: I wants to be
buried in Llanbeblig churchyard, among the Welsh child'n an' maids,
mother. I wants to feel the snowdrops, an' smell the vi'lets, an'
the primroses, a-growin' over my 'ead," sez she; "but that can't
never be, mother," sez she, a-sobbin' fit to bust; "never, never,
for such as me," sez she. An' I know'd what she meant, though she
never once blamed me, an' 'er words stuck in my gizzard like a thorn,
p'leaceman.'

'But what has all this to do with the girl you kidnapped?'

'Ain't I a-tellin' on ye as fast as I can? When my pore gal dropped
off to sleep, I sez to Polly Onion, "Poll," I sez, "to-morrow mornin'
I'll pop every-think as ain't popped a'ready, an' I'll leave you the
money to see arter 'er, an' I'll start for Carnarvon on Shanks's
pony. I knows a good many on the road," sez I, "as won't let Jokin'
Meg want for a crust and a sup, an' when I gits to Carnarvon I'll ax
'er aunt to bury 'er (she sells fish, 'er aunt does,"' sez I, "and
she's got a pot o' money), an' then I