“Niver as Oi knows on. They said he just comed a wee babby to the coourt a wanderin’ with the other childer, with scarce a rag to his back, an’ a smile on him like the arch-angel, and some said as how he niver had no father ner mother, but dthrapped sthraight frum the place where de angels live.”
“But did no one take care of him, or ever try to find out about him?” questioned Michael wistfully.
“Foind out, is it? Whist! An’ who would tak toime to foind out whin ther’s so miny uv their own. Mikky was allus welcome to a bite an’ a sup ef any uv us had it by. There wuz old Granny Bane with the rheumatiks. She gave him a bed an’ a bite now an’ agin, till she died, an afther that he made out to shift fer hisse’f. He was a moighty indepindint babby.”
“But had he no other name? Mikky what? What was his whole name?” pursued Michael with an eagerness that could not give up the sought-for information.
The old woman only stared stupidly.
“Didn’t he have any other name?” There was almost despair in his tone.
Another shake of the head.
“Juist Mikky!” she said and her eyes grew dull once more.
“Can you tell me if there are any other people living here now that used to know Mikky? Are there any other men or women who might remember?”
“How kin Oi tell?” snarled the woman impatiently. “Oi can’t be bothered.”