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A SET OF ROGUES.
Moll shuts the door and shoots the bolt, then tripping behind me into the light she casts back her hood and flings her arms round her father's neck with a peal of joyful laughter.
"What!" cries I. "Why, what can have brought you here?"
"Why, I knew you'd have nothing to give my poor old dad but mouldy cheese, so I've brought you a brace of partridges, if you please, sir," says she, concluding in her feigned voice, as she emptied the ham, pasty, and partridges all higgledy-piggledy out of the slip on to the table.
"But, Mrs. Godwin—" says I, in alarm.
"Oh, call me Moll," cries she, wildly. "Let me be myself for this one night."
