“An’ did ye find Miss Ardell?” she asked, quickly.
“No, Mrs. Flannigan. But I have found somebody else—the father of little Dottie.”
“Indade, now! An’ ain’t that noice’” she exclaimed, glancing at Colonel Dartwell’s well-dressed figure. “Well, the poor dear needs somebody, not but what she got good care here,” she added, hastily.
Tears stood in the colonel’s eyes as he stepped up beside the bed upon which Dottie lay. He took the white-robed figure up in his arms and kissed her face.
“It is she,” he said, in a choking voice. “The living picture of her dead mother!”
Dottie awoke with a start and was inclined to cry out. But Jerry and the colonel quickly soothed her.
“I am your papa, Dottie; don’t you remember papa and big Ruth that used to be with you?”
The little girl looked puzzled. Then she gave a cry.
“Papa! papa! I know you! I knew you would come to me! Oh, papa, don’t go away again! Crazy Jim said you were dead! Oh, papa!”
And she clung to him convulsively. It was such an affecting scene Jerry had to turn away, while Mrs. Flannigan, standing in the partly open doorway, shed copious tears.