Wyndham put out his hand and took the rather dirty little one of Peggy Desmond.
“I have come from your father, my dear.”
“Ah! an’ wisha! have ye? Why, thin, I haven’t had a line from hisself this many a day. Is he took with the sickness forby, or does anything ail him at all, at all?”
“Peggy, do you love your father?”
“Why, thin, yes, yer highness; only I never clapped eyes on him since I was a tweeny bit that high, yer highness.”
“My poor little girl, your father is dead!”
“Dead!” The girl started back. “Ah, thin, I want to let a screech out o’ me! Dead! is he dead? Oh, the holy powers! An’ is his sowl in glory?”
“I hope so, Peggy. I have heard from him. He was my greatest friend always.”
“Ye look too mighty fine to have a friend like me father, that ye do.”
“But your father was a gentleman, Peggy.”