“What a terrible place New York is. I hadn’t no idee it was so big.”
“Have you just arrived here?” Miss Elsworth asked.
“Yes; I jest come from the country. I’ve got to get a place to work.”
“What can you do.”
“I was cooking in a hotel in the village before I came here.”
“Why did you come to such a place as New York?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I was working in Ghent in a hotel, and the other night I had an awful dream. I dreamed about a span o’ black horses. It worried me considerable, but I thought p’r’aps ’twas foolish to think about it, but the next night I dreamed about a lot o’ mud fallin’ down on my head, and then I knew somethin’ had happened to my poor boy. You see, I’ve got a boy here in New York somewhere, and you never can begin to guess how I do love that boy. He is the purtiest boy in the whole world.”
Miss Elsworth looked at the old lady, thinking that her son might be pretty, as she said, for she herself must have been a very handsome woman in her youthful days. Her features were finely chiseled, and the dark hair streaked with gray was as smooth and as soft as a piece of satin. But there were lines of care around the delicate mouth and across the broad forehead, and though she might have been pure at heart, there was a lack of education and a manner that caused Miss Elsworth to pity rather than ridicule her.
“Is your son very young?” Miss Elsworth asked.