"How can I—away off here in the Lake?" Margaret asked despairingly.
"We are not in the Lake now, mem, nor in the Straits of Mackinac, nayther. We are at this moment enterin' St. Mary's River, mem, and sure it is a good omen that it is named for a mother that had to run off wid her own child. Pray to her, mem! pray to her!" Then, her religious sense appeased, she went on with shrewd acumen, "And wud ye take a chance, now?"
"I would do anything! anything!"
"And cud the gur-l or b'y, whichever it is by that time—" she was looking down sternly at Philip, winking one eye at Margaret meantime—"cud he be depinded on, mem? because," added Norah Brannigan, cruelly, "ef he should turn baby now, and git skeered—and cry—or blab—" she spoke slowly, that he might take it all in, and Philip was regarding her with the closest attention—"why, he wud upset our whole kittle o' fish, mem."
Philip turned to his mother with the most earnest protestation.
"Mama, I won't! I won't cwy—or—or b-blag—or upset any fish!"
"I think," said Margaret, taking the little tear-stained face between her palms and looking searchingly into his eyes, "I think—I believe—that he can be depended on. Now, what is your plan?"
The stewardess took her to the stateroom window and pointed over to the mainland at the left.
"Ye see them houses, and the shmoke—there just beyant the light-house on the point?"
"Yes, yes."