He was wrong, however. Phil was still upstairs. He was disposed
to be cautious, and did not mean to leave his present place of
security until he should be apprised by his hostess that Pietro
had gone.
Bridget McGuire kept on with her washing. She had been once to
the front room, and, looking through the blinds, had ascertained
that Pietro was still there.
"He'll have to wait long enough," she said to herself, "the
haythen! It's hard he'll find it to get the better of Bridget
McGuire."
She was still at her tub when through the opposite window on the
side of the house she caught sight of Pietro creeping stealthily
along, as we have described.
"I'll be even wid him," said Bridget to herself exultingly.
"I'll tache him to prowl around my house."
She took from her sink near by a large, long-handled tin dipper,
and filled it full of warm suds from the tub. Then stealing to
the window, she opened it suddenly, and as Pietro looked up,
suddenly launched the contents in his face, calling forth a
volley of imprecations, which I would rather not transfer to my
page. Being in Italian, Bridget did not exactly understand their
meaning, but guessed it.
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