“O Dil Quinn, Dil!” cried a dear, well remembered voice.
Patsey Muldoon caught her hand as if he would never let it go. He had half a mind to kiss her in the street, he was that glad. His eyes danced with joy.
“I’ve been layin’ out fer ye, Dil, hangin’ round an’ waitin’. I was dead sure yous’d come back here. An’ I’ve slipped in Misses Minch’s, an’ jes’ asked ’bout the old gal, an’ I told her ’f you come, jes’ to hold on t’ye.”
“O Patsey!”
“How nawful thin ye air, Dil. Have ye got railly well?”
Dil swallowed over a great lump in her throat, and had much ado not to cry, as she said, “I’m not so strong.”
“Well, we want ye, we jes’ do,” and he laughed.
“What for?” It was so good to have any one want her in this desolation, that she drew nearer, and he put her hand in his arm in a very protecting fashion.
“Well, I’ll tell ye. See, now, we was boardin’ with an old woman. There was five of us, but Fin, he waltzed off. The old woman died suddint like three weeks ago, an’ we’ve bin keepin’ house sence. The lan’lord he come round, ’n’ we promised the rent every Monday, sure pop; an’ we paid it too,” proudly. “We’ve got Owny. I’ve had to thrash him twict, but he’s doin’ fus’ rate now. An’ he sed, if we could git a holt o’ yous! He said ye made sech lickin’ good stews ’n’ coffee ’twould make a feller sing in his sleep.”
“O Patsey, you alwers was so good!” Dil wiped her eyes. This unlooked-for haven was delightful beyond any words.