Her own little one woke up at this point and crowed, being too young, we presume, to laugh.
"Oh, Signer Maggan," said Angela earnestly, while her sister entered into converse with the interpreter, "have you heers yit 'bout de Signers Rimini—?"
Angela had already acquired a very slight amount of broken English, which tumbled neatly from her pretty lips.
"Whist, cushla, whist!" interrupted the seaman, leading the girls slowly aside; "ye mustn't spake out so plain afore that rascal Ally Babby, for though he's a good enough soul whin asleep, I do belave he's as big a thafe and liar as any wan of his antecessors or descendants from Adam to Moses backward an' for'ard. Whist, now, an' I'll tell 'ee. I have heerd about 'em. There's bin no end o' sbirros—'them's the pleecemen, you know miss—scourin' the country after them; but don't look so scared-like, cushla, for they ain't found 'em yet, an' that feller Bacri, who, in my opinion, is the honestest man among the whole bilin' of 'em, he's bin an' found out w'ere they're hidin', an—" here the seaman's voice descended to a hoarse whisper, while his eyes and wrinkled forehead spoke volumes—"an' he's put me in commission to go an help 'em!"
"Dear man!" exclaimed Angela.
"Which,—Bacri or me?" asked Flaggan.
