‘Wan would think I was deaf,’ says she tragically, whereupon both she and Susan laugh together. The girl’s happy mirth—seen if not heard—delights the old maid behind the counter.
‘Good-bye, me dear, an’ God bless you!’ says she, and, disdaining to even see Susan’s pennies, she thrusts a big parcel of sweets into Jacky’s small hands.
‘Keep a few for Masther Bonnie,’ whispers she, as she kisses him and sends him after his sister.
At the door, however, Susan turns back, and once more calls down the trumpet:
‘You will contradict that thing about Mr. Haldane, won’t you?’ says she; ‘surely it is bad enough that he should have lost his front teeth, without having scandalous stories spread about him. Besides, they will make father very unhappy.’
‘I’ll look afther him,’ says Miss Ricketty, ‘if only to oblige ye, me dear; though, I think, I’m not wantin’. Providence seems to have his eye on that young man.’
‘Oh, poor man! I’m afraid not,’ says Susan; ‘he was ugly enough before, and now his front teeth are gone!’
‘That’s it,’ says Miss Ricketty; ‘whin next ye look at him, ye’ll see what a fine openin’ the Lord has made for him.’
The last vision Susan has of Miss Ricketty shows her leaning back in her chair, with her apron over her bonnet, convulsed with joy at her own wit.