The sky, which had till this time been clear, suddenly darkened. In ten minutes rain began to fall in large drops. A sudden shower, unusual at this time of the year, came up, and pedestrians everywhere, caught without umbrellas, fled panic-stricken to the nearest shelter. Twice before, as we know, Pietro had suffered from a shower of warm water. This, though colder, was even more formidable. Vanquished by the forces of nature, Pietro shouldered his instrument and fled incontinently. Phil might come out now, if he chose. His enemy had deserted his post, and the coast was clear.
“That’ll make the haythen lave,” thought Mrs. McGuire, who, though sorry to see the rain on account of her washing, exulted in the fact that Pietro was caught out in it.
She went to the front door and looked out. Looking up the street, she just caught a glimpse of the organ in rapid retreat. She now unbolted the door, the danger being at an end, and went up to acquaint Phil with the good news.
“You may come down now,” she said.
“Is he gone?” inquired Phil.
“Shure he’s runnin’ up the street as fast as his legs can carry him.”
“Thank you for saving me from him,” said, Phil, with a great sense of relief at the flight of his enemy.
“Whisht now; I don’t nade any thanks. Come down by the fire now.”
So Phil went down, and Bridget, on hospitable thoughts intent, drew her only rocking-chair near the stove, and forced Phil to sit down in it. Then she told him, with evident enjoyment, of the trick which Pietro had tried to play on her, and how he had failed.
“He couldn’t chate me, the haythen!” she concluded. “I was too smart for the likes of him, anyhow. Where do you live when you are at home?”