"O mother!" cried he, "what is it? There's more than you're telling me amiss. How long is she gone?"
"Sure an' I didn't mind the clock whin they wint," said Mrs.
Ginniss, still struggling to avoid the shock she felt approaching.
"No, no; but you can tell! O mother! do speak out, for the love of God! I can see how scared you are, though you won't say it. Tell me right out all there is to tell."
"An' it's no great there is to till, Teddy darlint; on'y this mornin', whin I was sint for to Ann Dolan (an' she that bad it's dead we thought she wor one spell, but for Docther Wintworth), Jovarny kim up, an' axed might the child go for a walk to the Gardens wid him; an' I jist puttin' on me shawl to go out, an' not wantin' to take the little crather in wid a sick woman, nor yet to lock the door on her, an' lave her to fret. So I says she might go wid him; and, whin she coom home, I tould Jovarny to open the door wid the kay an' let her in, an' showed her the dinner on the shelf by: an' if it's harm that's coom to her, it's harder on me than on yersilf it'll fall; an' my heart is bruck, is bruck intirely."
Throwing her apron over her head, Mrs. Ginniss fell into at chair, and gave way to the agitation and alarm she had so long suppressed; but Teddy, ordinarily so kind, and tender of his mother, stared at her blankly, and repeated,—
"This morning! How early this morning?"
"I wor jist afther washin' the bit breakfast-dishes," sobbed Mrs.
Ginniss.
"Twelve hours or near!" exclaimed Teddy in dismay. "And is it to the
Gardens he said he'd take her?"
"Shure an' did he!"
"To the Public Gardens, the City Gardens, just by the Commons?" persisted Teddy.