“But she’s got morning-glories, and—and red beans, and oh, dear! she’s got everything—she has,” cried the child, with a burst of tearful eloquence.
“Mister,” said Mary Margaret, approaching the officer in her motherly sorrow, “if ye’d only let the little felly stay a bit longer, till he’s big enough to wear jacket and trousers, ye know; he’s backard-like, ye see, and wants good motherly nursin’ more ’n a three months child.”
The officer shook his head, and Mary Margaret looked wofully down upon the little fellow, who was striving to envelop himself in the folds of her calico dress.
“He’s no mother but me, yer honor. It’d kill him intirely to go up yonder with the rest, and have all his beautiful curls cut short, and—and, oh! yer honor, it’ll be the death of us both—it will. Couldn’t ye be merciful this onest? Consither he’s a poor, motherless crathur, and only me to look up to in the wide worlt!”
Again the officer shook his head, but there was relenting and sympathy in his eyes. How could he help it, with that frank, pleading look fixed upon him, and the pretty child peeping out wistfully from the shelter of her garments.
“Indeed, Mrs. Dillon, I am sorry, but we have stretched a point in this case already, in consideration of your affection for the boy. The law is that all children, dependent on the city, must be removed to the institution when they are two years old. Now we know that little Eddie there is almost three, and he must take his chance with the rest.”
Poor Mary Margaret’s countenance fell, and Eddie made a grand effort to draw her away by force.
“Home!” he pleaded, “home, mammy; I will go home!”
“It may be,” said Mary Margaret, determined not to give up while a hope was left. “It may be yer honor thinks it’s the dollar a week I want; and it’s bad enough me and the childer need it, anyhow; but if ye’d but consint, I’d take Eddy, the crathur, for half price, an’ ’d think it a bargain, yer honor. If the old man had a word agin it, d’ ye see, I’d sit up anights, and do another ’xtra gentleman’s washing; it’d be no throuble in life, while I saw his beautiful, curly head peeping up from under the blankets, wid my own two spalpeens on each side, to keep the darlint from falling out of bed, ye know. I’d always manage to get him a sup of new milk, yer honor, and ’d never put in a taste of water, as I do—an’ little blame to me—wid the others.”
Again Mary Margaret paused; she had no other arguments to offer, and her poor, kind heart swelled painfully, when she saw no symptom of yielding in the face of the official.