"I wouldn't like Bet to come back, and not see the little chap," she replied once to Mother Bunch, who was gazing at him with a very dubious look on her face. "Ef there ever was a good sister, Bet's the one; and I wouldn't like her to come here and see no captain—and, for that matter, no general neither."
"We'll pull him through," said Mother Bunch. "Even if he is took for death—we'll pull him through."
She always said this, although her tones of late had grown less confident.
On this occasion she took Hester's place by the sick child; and Hetty being at liberty wrapped her cloak about her, and went out.
The small captain was lying at death's door; but there were other things to be considered, and Hester Wright's brain was full of a daring project just then.
Mrs. Flannigan was doing very well with Hetty's basket; so she was at liberty to use her own time as she thought fit, and as the old woman would scorn to rob the singer, her pockets were not quite empty. It was the middle of the day—dull and cloudy, a slight drizzling mist falling now and then.
Hester stepped into one of the tramcars, and after a ride of about half-an-hour found herself in a pretty suburb of the great city. She was going to see Sister Mary Vallence, and sincerely hoped that she might find her at home. Her errand was important, and the whole success of the scheme which she was forming in her mind would depend on this young lady's co-operation.
Sister Mary was fairly popular amongst the people for whom she worked. She was a brave, fearless, high-minded girl, never leaving a stone unturned to help others, and influencing many people by the power of a great love. She was at home, and Hetty Wright was at once admitted into her presence. Hetty had never before come in contact with Miss Vallence. Popular as she was in the slums, her rather remarkable face and her great gift of song were both unknown to the young lady. The fact, however, of Hester wearing a poor gown, and one look into her rather worn and pathetic face, ensured her a kindly and interested greeting. Sister Mary asked Hester to seat herself, and then sat quietly down, with that look of leisure on her face which always gives assurance to the teller of a story. Sister Mary did a great deal in her life, but she was never in a hurry; and this fact weighed now with Hester giving her confidence, and causing her heart to beat quietly.
"I ha' come to trouble you with a sad tale, madam," she began.
"I am sorry—will you call me sister, please," responded the young lady.