They were Mrs. Dore and Delia and Dicky.
“Oh, my mother!” Mrs. Dore said.
“My little Annie—my little girl,” Granny murmured. The tears began to stream down her cheeks.
Followed kissings and huggings by the dozen. Followed questions and answers by the score.
“And to t’ink you’ve been living forninst us all this time,” Granny said after the excitement had died down. She was sitting on the couch now, with Delia asleep in her lap, Mrs. Dore on one side and Dicky on the other. “And sure, me own hearrt was telling me the trut’ all the toime did Oi but listhen to ut—for ’twas loving this foine little lad ivry minut av the day.” She patted Dicky’s head. “And me niver seeing the baby that had me own name!” She cuddled Delia close. “OI’m the happiest woman in the whole woide wurrld this day.”
It was arranged that the two families were to have Christmas dinner together. Dicky and Mrs. Dore hurried back for a few moments to bring their turkey to the feast.
“Granny, will you love me just the same now that you’ve got Dicky and Delia?” Maida said wistfully.
“Love you, my lamb? Sure, I’ll love you all the more for ’twas t’rough you I met Misther Billy and t’rough Misther Billy I found me Annie. Ah, Misther Billy, ’tis the grand man you make for such a b’y that you are!”
“Yes, m’m,” said Billy.
When Mrs. Dore returned, mother and daughter went to work on the dinner, while Billy and Maida and Dicky trimmed the tree. When the door opened, they caught bits of conversation, Granny’s brogue growing thicker and thicker in her excitement, and Mrs. Dore relapsing, under its influence, into old-country speech. At such times, Maida noticed that Billy’s eyes always “skrinkled up.”