“’Tis past mending,” was the reply, and, shouldering his book bag, the boy was gone.
“Do you think you could find your way down [p54] to the village, dearie, and inquire for Mrs. Jackson?” said the housekeeper to Inna. “I’ve known her from a girl, poor dear. Since she’s married she’s had losses, and now ’tis said she’s lost all by the fire.”
“I could find her by asking,” returned Inna.
“True, dearie; you have a tongue in your head.”
So a few minutes found Inna down in the heart of Cherton, asking for Mrs. Jackson. She found her in a neat cottage, and helping the mistress of the same to cook a monster dinner for two families. She looked pale and sad, but brightened at Inna’s kindly message, and the baskets of comforts she told her Mrs. Grant sent with her and the doctor’s compliments.
“Thank you, dear; and my compliments in return; and my heart’s best thanks to that brave boy, your—your—what is he to you, miss? I suppose he’s something?” said Mrs. Jackson.
“Do you mean Oscar?”
“Yes—he who saved my boy at the risk of his own young life.”
Inna’s cheeks flushed, and sweet lights stole into her eyes.