“I thought maybe you were from the Board!” she explained. “’Tis them do be worrying the likes of us whenever there is any sickness in it at all.”
She had been living in a very nightmare of fear; her little child was ill and the world was conspiring to snatch it from her. She was quite determined that it should not go. She didn’t know, poor soul, just what awful powers the police and the health officials might have. She was accustomed to their authority. It might be the law to take her child away. But law or no law, she would not have it! She saw hope in this rich friend of Rosaleen’s; she clung to him; she fawned upon him.
She opened the door of the room where Petey lay. There was nothing in it but two big wooden beds. Outside from the fire escape hung a line of limp clothing fluttering in the night wind; nothing else to be seen.... The sick baby lay motionless in the centre of one of the wide beds, blazing with fever, his face scarlet, his brow pitifully contorted, his eyes closed. His limp little body seemed scarcely to raise the bed covers; his arms lay outside the counterpane, with their thin, flat wrists, the tiny, stubby hands....
The mother flew over to him and tucked his arms under the blanket.
“Do you want to catch yer death!” she cried, harshly, to the unconscious child.
She passed her hand over his burning head, feeling the hard, round little skull under the fine hair.
“He’s that hot!” she said. And suddenly began wailing.
“Oh, he cannot live at all! Well do I know he’s to be took from me! Petey! Oh, Petey, my darlin’!”
Rosaleen tried to quiet her.
“Listen, Katie dearie!” she said. “Mr. Landry’s going to help us! Petey’s going to have a beautiful big room all to himself——”