Miss Outcast felt happy once more; she beamed on him. "Oh, Jerry, you are the very man I came to see; go home just as quick as ever you can to your wife."
"Peggy, my Peggy! Is she worse?" and the poor fellow looked the anguish he felt.
"I don't b'lieve she's 'zackly worse," said the child, feeling very big indeed, "but she's acting queer, and she's got something 'portant on her mind and sent me for you."
Jerry waited to hear no more, but, seizing the child's hand, started to run. Leaving her in her own street, he hurried on alone.
His wife was watching for him, trembling and anxious. She was so relieved when he appeared that she burst into tears.
He took her frail body in his arms: "Why, Peggy, old girl, what has happened? Has anybody been hurting you?"
At these tender words she controlled herself and told him all that had occurred.
He was thunderstruck. "The scoundrels!" he muttered. "They surely wouldn't dare—but rest easy, love. We'll get ahead of them, never fear."
He thought deeply. "The best thing, wife, is not to alarm the ladies, but to see Mr. Morton himself. I'll go to him as fast as I can." But even in his haste he stopped to replenish the fire, settle Peggy's pillows more comfortably, and warm some soup for her.