a sort of
protection to poor mamma, and she has hidden behind its veil for
sixteen years. She meant no harm. She would have told you before--"

She turned crimson and stopped, but that burning blush told its story
plainly; and Mr. Daly busied himself over the pouring of a glass of wine
for the robbed mother, while the treasurer in low tones assured Daisy
there was nothing to forgive, and gratefully accepted the permission
granted him to see the poor things safely home.

Sixteen years' silence is not so bad for a sex who can't keep a secret!

_CHAPTER VII

A CASE OF "TRYING IT ON A DOG"_

It was before I came to New York that I one night saw a really fine
performance almost ruined by a single interruption. It was a domestic
tragedy of English rural life, and one act began with a tableau copied
exactly from a popular painting called "Waiting for the Verdict," which
was also the title of the play.

The scene gave an exterior view of the building within which the husband
and father was being tried for his life on a charge of murder. The
trembling old grandsire leaned heavily on his staff; the devoted wife
sat wearily by the closed iron gate, with a babe on her breast, tired
but vigilant; a faithful dog stretched himself at her feet, while his
shaggy shoulders pillowed the head of the sleeping child, who was the
accused man's darling.

The curtain rose on this picture, which was always heartily greeted, and
often, so well it told its pathetic story, a second and a third round of
applause greeted it before the dialogue began. The manager's little
daughter, who did the sleeping child, contracted a cold and was advised
not to venture out of the house for a fortnight, so a substitute had to
be found, and a fine lot of trouble the stage-manager had. He declared
half the children of Columbus had been through his sieve; and there was
the trouble--they all went through, there was no one left to act as
substitute. But at last he found two promising little girls, sisters
they were, and very poor; but the mother vowed her children must be in
bed at nine, theatre or no theatre; yes, she would like to have the
money, but she'd do without it rather than have a child out of bed at
all hours. At first she held out for nine o'clock, but at last yielded
the additional half-hour; and to the great disappointment of the younger
child, the elder one was accepted, for the odd reason that she looked so
much younger than her sister.