“We’ll find them—you’ll see!” she cried.
Little Maggie had been left at the Mill House with the teachers, and for the first time for years Patty found herself care-free, and at liberty to enjoy herself to the full.
“I hain’t had sech a grand time since I was a little girl an’ went ter Mont-Lawn,” she exulted, as the train bore them swiftly toward their destination. “Even when Sam an’ me was married we didn’t stop fur no play-day. We jest worked. An’ say, did ye see how grand Sam was doin’ now?” she broke off jubilantly. “He wa’n’t drunk once last week! Thar couldn’t no one made him do it only you. Seems how I never could thank ye fur all you’ve done,” she added wistfully.
“But you do thank me, Patty, every day of your life,” contended Margaret, brightly. “You thank me by just helping me as you do at the Mill House.”
“Pooh! As if that was anything compared ter what you does fur me,” scoffed Patty. “’Sides, don’t I git pay—money, fur bein’ matron?”
In New York Margaret went immediately to a quiet, but conveniently located hotel, where the rooms she had engaged were waiting for them. To Patty even this unpretentious hostelry was palatial, as were the service and the dinner in the great dining-room that evening.
“I don’t wonder folks likes ter be rich,” she observed after a silent survey of the merry, well-dressed throng about her. “I s’pose mebbe Mis’ Magoon’d say this was worse than them autymobiles she hates ter see so; an’ it don’t look quite—fair; does it? I wonder now, do ye s’pose any one of ’em ever thought of—divvyin’ up?”
A dreamy, far-away look came into the blue eyes opposite.
“Perhaps! who knows?” murmured Margaret. “Still, they haven’t ever—crossed the line, perhaps, so they don’t—know.”
“Huh?”