“Then her mother died about a year ago. That did for O’Neill. He’d been a brute to the woman, but then he’d been a brute to himself. The drink did it, and some place back in his rotten old soul I guess there was a clean spot that loved her. He was too drunk to see her buried and he kept that way most of the time for two or three months. Lord knows where he got the money for his whisky. Peggy used to help around at the neighbors, taking care of babies mostly. She’s a wonderful hand with babies. Some of the folks offered to take her on and look out for her, but she wouldn’t leave her father, and what little she made she’d use to feed him—washed for him, too, and tried to keep his clothes mended. Her mother had taught her to read and write and spell, and she went to school sometimes when she could. O’Neill’d be off for two or three days at a time and then she’d slip down to the schoolhouse. Miss Keyes, the teacher, says Peg’s the smartest scholar she ever had.”
“Couldn’t some one interfere legally and take her away from her father?” asked Archibald.
Mrs. Neal smiled indulgently.
“You don’t really know Peg yet,” she said. “We all worried a great deal and did what we could to help the child, but as for taking her away from what she thought was her duty—from somebody that was dependent on her—well, you wait till you know Pegeen O’Neill.
“O’Neill, he settled the business himself by going off on one of his sprees and not coming back at all. The Lord knows what became of him. I hope he’s dead and I guess he is, but his mind had sort of been going for a while before he left and Peggy, she has an idea that he just lost his memory and didn’t know where he belonged, or else he’d have come home to her.
“Grieved for him—that youngster did. Not exactly about her being without him, but about his being without her. She was afraid he was somewhere crazy and wasn’t being seen to properly.
“Several of us offered to take her in, after that, but what’d she do but go over to Mrs. Potter’s. She was sick—Mrs. Potter I mean—and had a little baby, and her husband’s work took him away most of the time. Poison poor, they were too. Peg she said they sort of needed her and she’d got the habit of taking care of somebody; so she took on that job until Mrs. Potter died. Then she took care of the baby until its mother’s folks came and got it last month. Peg felt real bad about the baby, but Mrs. Benderby’s husband had died in the winter and she was all alone and walking down to the village, three miles, early every morning to get day’s work and walking home, dog tired, at night; so Peg she said she’d just move over and see to Mrs. Benderby.—Gets up and has fire and breakfast at half-past six for the woman and tidies up the house and mends and has a supper waiting for the poor soul when she comes in at night. That didn’t keep the child busy though; so she took you on.”
“Good heavens!” protested the man. “It’s too much for her.”
“No, it ain’t,”—Mrs. Neal’s smile was reassuring. “It’s just a lark for her at your place and she’ll have good food up there and make a little money, and she can fix Mrs. Benderby up, night and morning, all the same. Peg’s got to take care of something with all her might and it may as well be you and Mrs. Benderby.”
“Well, perhaps it may,” agreed Mrs. Benderby’s fellow beneficiary, humbly.