"I'll have him in my bed." "No, you won't!" said Mrs Nash, decisively.
"We can't turn him out at this time of night," said I.
"Can't help that.

He don't sleep here, the dirty little wretch." "He'll be murdered if he goes back," said Jack.
"That's no reason I should have my house made not fit to live in," said Mrs Nash.
"He won't do any harm, I'll see to that," said Smith, rising and taking the boy up in his arms.
"I tell you I ain't going to allow it," said Mrs Nash.
But Jack without another word carried off his burden, and we heard his footsteps go slowly up the stairs to the bedroom.

I stayed for some little time endeavouring to appease Mrs Nash, but without much effect.
She abandoned her first idea of rushing out and defending the cleanliness of her house by force of arms, but in place of that relieved herself in very strong language on the subject of Jack Smith generally, and of me in aiding and abetting him, and ended by announcing that she gave us both warning, and we might look-out for somebody else to stand our impudence (she called it "imperence"), for _she_ wouldn't.
When I went up stairs Jack and his small _protege_ were in bed and asleep.

I was quite startled when I caught sight of their two heads side by side on the pillow.

It looked for all the world like a big Jack and a little Jack.
"Wouldn't Jack be flattered if I told him so!" thought I.
I was not long in following their example.