“My, but ain’t you slick!” he cried admiringly, stopping short before Margaret, who had unconsciously shrunk close to her mother’s side. “Hi, thar, Patty,” he called, hailing the gleeful children behind him, “what would the Alley say if they could see her now?”
There was a moment’s pause. Eagerly as the children had followed Tom’s lead, they stood abashed now before the tall, beautiful woman and the pretty little girl they had once known as “Mag of the Alley.” Almost instantly Margaret saw and understood; and with all the strength of her hospitable little soul she strove to put her guests at their ease. With a glad little cry she gave one after another a bear-like hug; then she stood back with a flourish and prepared for the introductions. Unconsciously her words and manner aped those of her mother in sundry other introductions that had figured in her own experience during the last four weeks; and before Mrs. Kendall knew what was happening she found herself being ceremoniously presented to Tom Whalen, late of the Alley, New York.
“Tom, this is my dear mother that I lost long ago,” said Margaret. “Mother, dear, can’t you shake hands with Tom?”
Tom advanced. His face was a fiery red, and the freckles shone luridly through the glow.
“Proud ter know ye, ma’am,” he stammered, clutching frantically at the daintily-gloved, outstretched hand.
Margaret sighed with relief. Tom did know how to behave, after all. She had feared he would not.
“And this is Mary Whalen, and Peter,” she went on, as Mrs. Kendall clasped in turn two limp hands belonging to a white-faced girl and a frightened boy. “And here’s Patty and the twins, Clarabella and Arabella; and now you know ’em all,” finished Margaret, beaming joyously upon her mother who was leaning with tender eyes over the little lame Arabella.
“My dear, how thin your poor little cheeks are,” Mrs. Kendall was saying.
“Yes, she is kind o’ peaked,” volunteered Patty. “Miss Murdock says as how her food don’t ‘similate. Ye see she ain’t over strong, anyhow, on account o’ dem,” pointing to the little twisted feet and legs. “Mebbe Maggie told ye, ma’am, how Arabella wa’n’t finished up right, an’ how her legs didn’t go straight like ours,” added Patty, giving her usual explanation of her sister’s misfortune.
“Yes,” choked Mrs. Kendall, hurriedly. “She told me that the little girl was lame. Now, my dears, we—we’ll go home.” Mrs. Kendall hesitated and looked about her. “You—you haven’t any bags or—or anything?” she asked them.