Rose, at the same time, led away the children,
poor little Charles almost asleep in the midst of the confusion.
Deborah's troubles were not over yet; the captain called for supper,
and seeing Walter's basket of fish, ordered her to prepare them at
once for him. Afraid to refuse, she took them down to the kitchen,
and proceeded to her cookery, weeping and lamenting all the time.
"Oh, the sweet generous-hearted young gentleman! That I should have
been the death of such as he, and he thanking me for my poor
services! 'Tis little I could do, with my crooked temper, that
plagues all I love the very best, and my long tongue! Oh that it had
been bitten out at the root! I wish--I wish I was a mark for all the
musketeers in the Parliament army this minute! And Diggory, the
rogue! Oh, after having known him all my life, who would have
thought of his turning informer? Why was not he killed in the great
fight? It would have broke my heart less."
And having set her fish to boil, Deborah sank on the chair, her apron
over her head, and proceeded to rock herself backwards and forwards
as before. She was startled by a touch, and a lumpish voice,
attempted to be softened into an insinuating tone. "I say, Deb,
don't take on."
She sprung up as if an adder had stung her, and jumped away from him.
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