nobody, and let nobody have nothing to do with you.
They're a bad crew downstairs, a very bad crew. Don't you ever let any
one of 'em come across the door-step. Meg, could you keep a secret?'

'Yes, I could,' said Meg.

'I think you could,' answered her mother, 'and I'll tell you why you
mustn't have nothing to do with the crew downstairs. Meg, pull the big
box from under the bed.'

The box lay far back, where it was well hidden by the bed; but by dint
of hard pulling Meg dragged it out, and the sailor's wife gave her the
key from under her pillow. When the lid was open, the eyes of the
dying woman rested with interest and longing upon the faded finery it
contained--the bright-coloured shawl, and showy dress, and velvet
bonnet, which she used to put on when she went to meet her husband on
his return from sea. Meg lifted them out carefully one by one, and
laid them on the bed, smoothing out the creases fondly. There were her
own best clothes, too, and the children's; the baby's nankeen coat, and
Robin's blue cap, which never saw the light except when father was at
home. She had nearly emptied the box, when she came upon a small but
heavy packet.

'That's the secret, Meg,' said her mother in a cautious whisper.
'That's forty gold sovereigns, as doesn't belong to me, nor father
neither, but to one of his mates as left it with him for safety. I
couldn't die easy if I thought it wouldn't be safe. They'd go rooting
about everywhere; but, Meg, you must never, never, never let anybody
come into the room till father's at home.'

'I never will, mother,' said little Meg.

'That's partly why I moved up here,' she continued. 'Why, they'd
murder you all if they couldn't get the money without. Always keep the
door locked, whether you're in or out; and, Meg dear, I've made you a
little bag to wear round your neck, to keep the key of the box in, and
all the money I've got left; it'll be enough till father comes. And if
anybody meddles, and asks you when he's coming, be sure say you expect
him home to-day or to-morrow. He'll be here in four weeks, on Robin's
birthday, may be. Do you know all you've got to do, little Meg?'

'Yes,' she answered. 'I'm to take care of the children, and the money
as belongs to one of father's mates; and I must wear the little bag
round my neck, and always keep the door locked, and tell folks I expect
father home to-day or to-morrow, and never let nobody come into our
room.'

'That's