“17 Hudson Street, ma’am, up two flights of stairs; and if I’m not there Tom always is.”
“There, didn’t I tell you?” Kitty cried exultingly, after the woman had gone. “Didn’t I tell you that he was sick? You see now,—‘Tom’s always there.’”
“Yes; but Tom may not be her husband, and I don’t think he is. He is much more likely to be her child.”
“Mrs. Greenough, I’m astonished at you. You say that to be contradictious. Now, it is not nice to be contradictious; besides, she wouldn’t look so quiet and sad if Tom were only her boy.”
But weeks passed on, and nothing more was heard of Mrs. Graham, until, at last, Thanksgiving Day was near at hand. Kitty was to have a new dress, and Mrs. Greenough, who had undertaken to finish it, found that she had not time.
“Oh, let me go for Mrs. Graham, mamma,” cried Kitty eagerly. “Luke can drive me down to Hudson Street, and then I shall see Tom.”
Mrs. Greenough laughed and consented. In a few minutes Luke had brought to the door the one-horse coupé, which had been the last year’s Christmas gift of Mr. Greenough to his wife, and in which Miss Kitty was always glad to make an excuse for going out.
Arrived at 17 Hudson Street, she tripped up two flights of stairs, and tapped on the door, on which was a printed card with the name of Mrs. Graham.
A voice, with a wonderful quality of musical sweetness in it, answered,—
“Please to come in; I cannot open the door.”