ast, joy of joys, not only
discovered a box with a few matches in it, but an end of candle besides.

In a moment she had struck a match, had applied it to the candle, and
then, holding the flickering light high, looked around the little hut.

A girl, crouched up against the wall on some straw, was gazing at her
with wide-open terrified eyes; the girl was perfectly still, not a
muscle in her body moved, only her big frightened eyes gazed fixedly at
Maggie. She wore no hat on her head; her long yellow hair lay in
confusion over her shoulders; her feet were shoeless, and one arm was
laid with a certain air of protection on a wee white bundle on the straw
by her side.

"Who are you?" said Flower, at last. "Are you a ghost, or are you the
daughter of the dreadful woman who lives in this hut? See! I had a long
sleep. She put me to sleep, I know she did; and while I was asleep she
stole my purse and rings, and my hat and shoes. But that's nothing,
that's nothing at all. While I was asleep, baby here died. I know she's
quite dead, she has not stirred nor moved for hours, at least it seems
like hours. What are you staring at me in that rude way for, girl? I'm
quite sure the baby, Polly's little sister, is dead."

Nobody could speak in a more utterly apathetic way than Flower. Her
voice neither rose nor fell. She poured out her dreary words in a
wailing monotone.

"I know that it's my fault," she added; "Polly's little sister has died
because of me."

She still held her hand over the white bundle.

"I'm terrified, but not of you," she added; "you may be a ghost,
stealing in here in the dark; or you may be the daughter of that
dreadful woman. But whoever you are, it's all alike to me. I got into
one of my passions. I promised my mother when she died that I'd never
get into another, but I did, I got into one to-day. I was angry with
Polly Maybright; I stole her little sister away, and now she's dead. I
am so terrified at what I have done that I never can be afraid of
anything else. You need not stare so at me, girl; whoever you are I'm
not afraid of you."

Maggie had now found an old bottle to stick her candle into.

"I am Miss Polly's little kitchen-maid, Maggie Ricketts," she replied.
"I ain't a ghost, and I haven't nothing to say to the wife of Micah
Jones. As to the baby, let me look at it. You're a very bad young lady,
Miss Flower, but I has come to fetch away the baby, ef you please, so
let me look at it this minut