“I'm in great trouble. Will ye help me?”
“Help you, Tom? You know I will, and with anything I've got. What is it!” he said earnestly, regaining his chair and drawing it closer.
“Has no one iver told ye about me Tom?” she asked, looking at him from under her eyebrows.
“No; except that he was hurt or—or—out of his mind, maybe, and you couldn't bring him home.”
“An' ye have heared nothin' more?”
“No,” said Babcock, wondering at her anxious manner.
“Ye know that since he went away I've done the work meself, standin' out as he would have done in the cold an' wet an' workin' for the children wid nobody to help me but these two hands.”
Babcock nodded. He knew how true it was.
“Ye've wondered many a time, maybe, that I niver brought him home an' had him round wid me other poor cripple, Patsy—them two togither.” Her voice fell almost to a whisper.
“Or ye thought, maybe, it was mean and cruel in me that I kep' him a burden on the State, when I was able to care for him meself. Well, ye'll think so no more.”