The boy took out his little purse, and opened it. There was not much money in it. He turned over a few silver pieces with the tips of his slim, aristocratic fingers, and his white face grew whiter. Still he said firmly, “It will be necessary to sell the furniture. I will arrange for it. You may leave me in the morning, Virtue Ann;” and he withdrew as softly as he had come.
“The little impident thing,” said Bridget wrathfully. “He niver once cast a glance at me.”
“He’ll never speak to you again,” said Virtue Ann mournfully, “nor to me either, after I leave him. I know him; he’s the most unforgiving little mortal that ever drew breath. Oh! I wish I hadn’t offended him;” and she put her apron up to her face and began to cry.
“Oh, whisht!” said Bridget impatiently. “Just you leave him here; some one will take care of him.”
“Oh, I can’t, I can’t!” said Virtue Ann. “He’s all alone in the world. He don’t know any one here, or care for any one, unless it’s that police sergeant. I guess I’ll go see him right away.”
“Hist!” said Bridget, “there’s a ring at the bell; go see who it is.”
Virtue Ann sprang up, dried her tears, and hurried into the little hall. Mrs. Hardy’s voice was asking through the tube if she might come up. “Certainly, certainly, ma’am,” said Virtue Ann joyfully; and when a few minutes after she looked over the stair-railing, and saw Mrs. Hardy’s white head, crowned by a big black hat, appearing, she exclaimed, “I’m just tickled to death to see you, ma’am. Would you,” and she lowered her voice to a mysterious whisper, “mind coming to the kitchen for a minute? Master Eugene’s in the parlor, and I want to tell you something.”
Mrs. Hardy nodded her head, and without speaking followed the girl to the kitchen, and stood looking in a puzzled way at Bridget, whom she had not seen before.
Virtue Ann quickly explained the situation of affairs to her.