"Yes?"
"After—well, after a while—Mollie was took sick. You see there was some sort o' reason for that there laziness of hern. There was something wrong with her inside. Her brother John come—I telegraphed him—and had her took to a hospital. Up at St. Mary's—t'other side of town. She's there yet. She ain't a-goin' to come out, they say."
"Oh!" breathed Jeanne, her eyes very big. "Oh, poor Mollie!"
"She's just as contented as ever," assured the Captain, whose consoling pats had grown stronger and stronger until now they were so nearly blows, that Jeanne winced under them. "I'll take you to see her first chance I git; she'll be thar for some time yet!"
"But the children," pleaded Jeanne. "Where are they?"
"Well, they're in St. Louis."
"Oh, no."
"I'm afeared they be. You see, Mis' Shannon was no good at housekeepin' with that there rheumatism of hern; so, John up and married a real strong young woman to do the work. When he come here to look after Mollie, he took Sammy and Annie and the little 'un back to St. Louis with him."
"And Michael?"
"I'll tell you the rest tomorry," promised the Captain, who had stopped patting Jeanne, to wipe large beads of perspiration from his brow. "I'm a hungry man and I got a heap o' work to do after supper. You got to sleep some'eres, you know. My idee is to knock open the doors and windys of the two best rooms in your old shack out there. This here fish car ain't no real proper place for a lady. It was me nailed them doors up after—hum—me nailed 'em up."