"Bother," said Miss French as Moriarty picked up the discarded cloak from the ground.
She put it on, and they resumed their way, till they reached the boa.
This, too, was grumblingly put on, and they resumed their way till they came on the great hat lying on the ground.
Moriarty placed the elastic of this under the child's chin and gave the crown a slight twitch to put it straight.
With the putting on of the hat Miss French's light-hearted look and gaiety, which had dwindled on the assumption of the cloak and boa, completely vanished, like a candle-flame under an extinguisher.
Mrs. Driscoll met them at the door.
"That's right, Moriarty," said she. "You haven't let the hat off her, have you?"
"She tuck it off," said Moriarty, "and I put it on her head again wid me own hands. What's that you say? Have I kep' her out of the wind? Which wind d'y mane, or what are you talkin' about? Here you are, take her into the house, for I have me stables to look afther, and it's close on wan."
Mrs. Driscoll disappeared into the house, bearing in her arms the last of the Frenches. Poor child! If anyone ever stood a chance of being killed by kindness, it was she.
Muffled to death!