"Now I'm ready; I wonder where the young ones are? Hannah, Hannah Mulvaney?" she called from the kitchen door, "step lively, you're all to come in this minute."
Obedience was a shining virtue in the Mulvaney family. The children came.
"Why, ma," protested Mike, "you ain't going to leave us, I hope."
By way of reply Mrs. Mulvaney jerked Mike through the doorway, knocking him against Johnnie with such force the little fellow sat down in the dishpan containing the uncovered bread dough.
"Don't stir out of this house while I'm gone," commanded Mrs. Mulvaney, sailing away without looking behind, which was a fortunate thing for Johnnie. Before his mother's return he had scraped off most of the dough from his trousers, with the help of the twins.
"Kind o' sthicky, ain't it?" commented Stubbins, tasting of the dough. "Thay! I'd give a thent to know where ma went."
"Maybe she ain't never coming back," suggested Hannah, after a long silence.
"Yes she is; look alive, kids," shouted Chinky, "she's coming like the fire engine. Watch out!"
"I bet she's been after a policeman, and we'll all get took to jail," whispered Johnnie, looking for a place to hide and finding none.
When Mrs. Mulvaney returned she said nothing at first, and the children were too frightened by her behaviour to dare speak. They didn't know what to think as they watched their mother count eight green slips of paper which she afterward pinned inside her dress. The next astonishing performance was the writing of a postal card which the woman straightway mailed.