“He’s been very good.” Dil was too wise to tell bad tales.
“He always is, the darlint! An’ I’m late. I was ironin’ away for dear life, whin Mrs. Welford comes down wid a lasht summer’s gown, an’ sez she, ‘Mrs. Gillen, you stop an’ iron it, an’ I’ll give ye a quarther, for ye’ve had a big day’s work,’ sez she. So what cud I do, faix, when she shpoke so cliver loike, an’ the money ready to hand?”
“They’re not often so free wid their tin, though heaven knows they’re free enough wid their work,” commented Mrs. Quinn, with a touch of contempt.
“Mrs. Welford is a rale lady, ivery inch of her. Jamsie grumbles that I go to her, but a bit o’ tin comes in moighty handy. An’ many’s the cast-offs I do be getten, an’ it all helps. Here’s five cints, and here’s a nickel for yourself, Dil. Whatever in the world should we be doin’ widout ye?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” and Dil courtesied.
Mrs. Gillen bundled up her baby in her apron and wished them good-night, skipping home with a light heart to get her husband’s supper, and hear him scold a little because she worked so late.
Mrs. Quinn held out her hand to her daughter.
“Gev me that nickel,” she said.
The ready obedience was inspired more by the fear of a blow than love.
The potatoes were done, and they sat down to supper. Certainly the boys were hungry.