The stranger glanced at the two open doors, and wondered; was the child in bed?
The next sentence was what Dil had caught. Miss Nevins checked herself suddenly. Mr. Travis had said, “See the children alone if you can. Their mother is out to work most of the time, and it will be an easy matter. But do not give any money to the woman for them; they will not get it.”
“Well—what?” asked Mrs. Quinn sharply, with an aspect that rather nonplussed the lady. “Whin did he see so much of thim, an’ come to think they needed his attintion?”
“Why—when he was here—”
“Was he here now? an’ what called him?”
Mrs. Quinn gave her visitor an insolent stare that rendered her very uncomfortable.
“I—I really do not know when. Kindly disposed people do visit the sick and the needy. I go to a great many places—”
“Av ye plaise,” she interrupted, “we’re not paupers. I’m well enough, ye see, to be takin’ care of me own childers. An’ he nor no one else nade throubble theirselves. I’m not askin’ charity; an’ av they did it unbeknownst to me, I’ll hammer thim well, that I will! They’re as well off as common folk, an’ ye needn’t be worritin’. Av that’s all ye come fer, ye kin be goin’ about yer own bisniss, bedad! An’ ye kin tell Mr. What’s-his-name that I’m not sufferin’ fer help.”
This was not the fashion in which Miss Nevins was generally received. “You do not understand”—with rising color. “We desire to be of whatever service we can; and if your child is ill, you cannot have a better friend—”
“Frind! is it? Bedad, I kin choose me own frinds! An’ if he knows whin he’s well off, he’ll not show his foine forrum here, er his mug’ll get a party mash on it. Frind, indade!”