“Yes,” she answered.
“He’s been asking for you. He mustn’t be excited,” he added, looking at the others. “Is it necessary that you see him?”
Mary gulped back the indignant words which rose to her lips. Necessary that she see her boy!
“No,” she said, steadily. “We’ll jest excite him. You go, Mamie. Jack’ll wait fer ye,” and she held Jack by the hand until Mamie had entered and the door had closed behind her.
“It’s her place, not mine,” she said. “An’ now I’ll go over t’ the Magraws.”
“Mary,” said Jack, hoarsely, and put his arm around her, “you’re the bravest little woman I iver knew. I’m proud of ye.”
But Mary felt anything but brave as, in the gray light of the dawn, she slowly crossed the tracks and mounted the path to the door of the little house. For, after all, what could she say to lighten the force of the blow? What could anyone say? Suppose it was some one else coming to tell her of Jack? She caught her breath sharply—
And then she was conscious that the door was open and when she looked up, she saw Mrs. Magraw standing there and gazing down at her, a strange light in her eyes.
“Come in,” she said, and led the way into the little parlour, from which, during the night, she had watched the flames across the yards. “I knowed ye’d come,” she added. “I knowed ye’d want t’ be the one t’ tell me—an’ I thank ye, Mary Welsh.”
“You—you know?” gasped Mary, staring at her. “Somebody’s told you?”