Biddy went to the child’s crib and picked the little one up in her arms.
“Come and give a kiss to you’se poor mother, me darlint,” said she softly, “and then you’se can snooze again to sleep. Now then, be a good girl.”
The little one whined, for sleep had closed her eyelids and the tired child was worn out with her prison play.
“Mother’s precious baby,” said the mother sleepily; “I will hold her, Biddy, for a little while, for she is so sweet.”
“But it will tire you to death,” cried the Irishwoman. “Now then, you let me put her back on her own little bed, and you both try and sleep.”
Biddy crept out and left the mother and child alone, and as she passed out she muttered a prayer for the sick woman and for the welfare of her little child.
Darkness had settled over the prison, and not a sound was heard but the whispering of two men.
“I got to get this chart of the prison in to Farren on my beat,” said one, “and then I’m going to turn in.”
“You had better be careful that you don’t take his place. It’s worth more than a hundred to do such a job as this.”