The child’s wistful face colored, and the tears sprang to the great, sad eyes; but he was silently turning away, when Miss Endell herself spoke. She was not specially fond of children; but she had a kind heart, and something in the wan, pitiful face of the child touched it.
“Don’t send him away, Mrs. Stone,” she said kindly. “Come in, my little man, and tell me what your name is.”
The child sidled in, timidly, but did not speak.
“Don’t be afraid,” Miss Endell said. “What is your name?”
“Bless you, ma’am, he can’t speak!” said Mrs. Stone.
“Can’t speak?”
“No; he was born with something wrong. Laws, he can hear as well as anybody, and he knows all you say to him; but there’s something the matter. The last ‘drawing-room’ said that there was doctors, she was sure, as could help him, but I haint any money to try experiments.
“Johnny was my brother’s child. His father died before he was born, and his mother lived just long enough to ’and over Johnny to me, and ask me to take care of him.
“I’ve done my best; but a lodging-house is a worrit. What with empty rooms, and lodgers as didn’t pay, and hard times, I never got money enough ahead to spend on doctors.
“But you mustn’t have Johnny a-worritin’ round. You’d get sick o’ that. The last ‘drawing-room’ said it made her that nervous to see him; and I halways thought she went off partly for that.”