As I came round the corner by the public-house, I heard a hoarse shouting and clashing of pewter pots; and looking in through the ill-fitting flap doors, I saw a confused crowd of dirty, greasy men, straggling to get near the counter. I walked on more quickly down the street, hoping to be in time.
"Stop," I cried suddenly to the little figure creeping along by the houses. "You mustn't go there to-night. Stay here and give me the jug, and I'll bring the beer back to you."
She started, and caught hold of the railings with one hand. "Who are you?" she said, turning a pair of curiously dull eyes towards me.
"Come," said I, "stay here; I'll tell you all about that when I come back;" and I took hold of the jug.
"Why shouldn't I get it to-night? I go nearly every night, and often during the day as well; I know the way—and it isn't far."
"It's full of drunken men," I said; "you'd better stay here."
She gave up the jug and leant listlessly against the railings, keeping her eyes on the ground.
"Don't be long please; they're waiting for me at home. It's the first door on the left, and there's 'Jug and Bottle Entrance'on the glass in raised letters."
"This is an empty house," I said; "you can sit on the steps while I'm gone."
When I came back I found her standing by the door with one hand on the bell-handle.
"Did you say this house was empty?" she asked, as I held out the beer jug.
"Yes," I answered, glancing at the dirty windows in which bills were posted; "but why?"
"Because I've been ringing the bell all the time you've been
