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As they emerged into the twilight of the kitchen a voice, pure as a rivulet's, poured down in song upon them from above. From outside came a gust of laughter, and then a roaring chorus. "By the Lord!" thundered the Parson. "It's The Doxie's Daughter." "And the Gap Gang singing choir!" said Piper grimly. "Likely it'll be the only hymn they knaw."
Out of it two frog-like legs thrust and kicked with the action of one swimming. A protuberance crowned the rim of the barrel. Body, head, and arms were lost. The Parson whipped up Polly. "One for yourself!" he roared, prodding the boy's bad eminence, "and one for The Doxie's Daughter!" "Hoi! that's Blo-ub!" yelled a muffled voice.
"She can sleep here in the waiting-room," suggested the agent. "They'll let you sleep in the parlor over at Doxie's, mister maybe." Rossiter did not have the heart to tell her all that the agent said. He merely announced that there was no hotel except the depot waiting-room. "By the way, does Mr. Dudley live out in the country?" he asked insidiously. She flushed and then looked at him narrowly.
Will you please tell me what I am to do?" very much as if it was his business to provide for her in the hour of need. Rossiter promptly awoke the agent and asked him where a room could be procured for the lady. Doxie's boarding-house was the only place, according to the agent, and it was full to overflowing. Besides, they would not "take in" strange women.
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