“I understand, sir,” said Mrs. Magraw, and there was in her face a sweet dignity. “An’ I’ve had my recompense—with the flowers an’ the men at the funeral—the shop-men, sir, an’ the brotherhood—stretchin’ clear out t’ the street yonder, an’ cryin’, sir, as if ’twas their own brother—”
She stopped, her eyes gleaming.
“He was the brother of every one of us,” he said; and added, soberly, “I wish I was as good a man!”
Mrs. Magraw watched him as he crossed the yards; watched him till a corner of the round-house hid him from view; then she turned slowly back into the house, her face shining.
“Oh, Reddy,” she said hoarsely to herself; “it’s a proud woman I am this day; proud fer ye—proud fer ye—oh, an’ heart-broken, too.”
The next afternoon, Mr. Schofield called up Jack Welsh’s residence.
“How’s Allan getting along?” he asked of the woman’s voice which answered the phone.
“He’s gittin’ along as well as could be expected.”
“Is he able to sit up?”