There was nothing to fear about this man, as Goober Glory saw at once. His homely face was gay with good health and good nature and the sunshiny morning after the storm seemed not more sunshiny than he. But his curiosity was great and he did not rest till it was satisfied by a full recital of all that had happened to the straying children and their plans for the future were explained.
The man’s face grew grave and he shook his head with misgiving: “Lookin’ for a lot of lost people, is it, then? Hmm. An’, that may be more’n of a job than straightenin’ crooked rails what the storm washed away, as I must be doin’ to onct. Too big a job to be tacklin’ on empty stummicks, betoken; so here, the two of yez, fall in an’ taste this bread an’ meat an’ couple o’ cold spuds, an’ let me get on to me own affairs.”
Opening his tin pail, he made a cup of its inverted top, into which he poured a lot of cold tea and offered it to Glory, who in turn, promptly presented it to the now clamorous Bonny, and had the pleasure of seeing the little one drink deeply before she discovered for herself that it was not her accustomed milk, and rejected the remainder. Both the workman and Take-a-Stitch laughed at the little one’s wry face, while having divided the bread and meat into three fair portions, all fell to with a will, so that soon not a crumb was left.
“Ah, that was prime!” cried Glory, smacking her lips; “and you’re the primest sort of man to give it to us. I hope I’ll have something to give you some time,” she finished a little wistfully, and keenly regarding various rents in his clothes. “If I had my needle an’ thread I might work it out, maybe. You need mendin’ dreadful.”
“Betoken! So I do. An’ be ye a colleen ’at’s handy with them sort o’ tools?”
“Indeed, I can sew!” cried Glory, triumphantly. “It’s ’cause of that the Elbowers call me ‘Mend-a-Hole,’ or ‘Take-a-Stitch,’ whichever happens. Why–why–I earn money–real money–sewin’ the Lane folks up!”
“An’ yet bein’ that mite of a thing ye are!” returned this new friend, admiringly. “Well then, ’tis out to me sister’s husband’s cousin’s house I’m wishin’ ye was this instant. For of all the folks needs the mendin’ an’ patchin’, ’tis she, with her seven own childer, an’ her ten boardin’ ‘hands,’ an’ her own man, that was gardener to some great folks beyant, laid up with the chills an’ not able to do a hand’s turn for himself, barrin’ eatin’ an’ drinkin’ fair, when the victuals is ready. He can play a good knife an’ fork, still, thanks be, an’ it’s hopin’ he’ll soon be playin’ his shovel an’ spade just as lively, but that’s no more here nor yet there. There’s miles betwixt this an’ yon, an’—Hello! Aye, hello-a-oa!”
The sudden break in Timothy Dowd’s chatter was caused by the hailing of some fellow workmen who had rumbled up to them a hand-car over a near-by track and had signaled him to join them.
“For it’s not down track but up you’re to go, Tim, the washouts bein’ worst beyond. Step aboard, we’ve to hustle.”
Timothy picked up his tools and started to comply, when his glance fell once more upon the eager face of Goober Glory and pity for her made him hesitate. Then a bright idea flashed through his brain and he demanded of the man who had accosted him, “How fur be ye goin’?”