“An’ to think poor Christiana’s burnt up, an’ we can’t tell how she got out of the giant’s hands! Dil, there’s jes’ such truly people, an’ mammy’s one of ’em! Jes’ think if she’d been like Christiana, an’ took us by the hand, an’ was leadin’ us to heaven, an’ pushin’ the kerrige whiles to spell you!”
Then they cried again at the thought, so utterly delightful, and the present reality so hard to bear.
“But we know she did get to heaven,” resumed Bess; “only we can’t tell how many things there were. Dil, it isn’t reel easy to go to heaven, after all. But when we have him, you see he’ll do the fightin’, an’ he’ll pick out the way, an’ we’ll go right straight along. We won’t stop in them queer places an’ get all tangled up; for we’re in such a norful hurry to get there, an’ have my hurted legs made well.”
Dil kissed her convulsively, and cried over the shining golden head. Besides the book, there had been an irreparable loss to her, that Bess had not yet realized. She had tucked her precious picture inside the cover of the book. For now she felt it must be kept out of her mother’s sight, as she could not explain how she came by it, and escape with her life. That, too, had perished in the flames, the next precious thing to Bess.
The poor children unlocked arms presently, and Dil crept into bed sad and forlorn. She heard Owen stealing in, but her mother never stirred.
Mrs. Quinn sat taking her cup of coffee the next morning when Owen made his appearance. She tried to recall what had happened last night, and whether she had thrashed him or not.
“A purty time of night it was for ye to come home,” she began.
“Oh, come off!” said Owen. “What yer givin’ us? I was home an’ abed afore ye kem in, an’ ye was full of the shindy at Mis’ MacBride’s. Don’t ye remimber how ye wint on?”
Owen dodged the cuff. His mother was so nonplussed that for once she was helplessly silent. But as she went out of the door she turned and said,—
“I’ll see yer in to-night, young feller.”