“No, they didn’t; I lived in the country.”
“Then, you mustn’t scold me,” said Virgie gayly. “O Bridget! there is a big, big fly with blue wingses. You stand still like a mousie while I catch it, ’cause if you runned you might starkle it;” and she darted away.
“And is the French boy still making his home with you, sir?” asked Bridget curiously.
“Yes; he is still with us.”
“And he doesn’t hear from his bad old uncle in France, Virtue Ann tells me.”
“No; he hasn’t as yet,” said the sergeant.
“And it’s a great comfort to Virtue Ann that you’ve shielded him,” continued Bridget, “otherwise she’d have cold comfort in the good place she’s found for herself. ‘Virtue Ann,’ said I, ‘if you despise your luck this time, you’ll be guilty of the sin of onprudency. Make seven crosses, and let the boy go, and you’ll find you’re in the right of it.’”
“The boy is always glad to see her,” said the sergeant absently. “Hello, Boozy, what’s the matter?”
“And sure that’s a queer cat,” said Bridget, eyeing the black-and-white animal who was mewing excitedly, and walking up and down at a little distance from them.
“He wants to show me something, and badly too,” said the sergeant, “or he wouldn’t come so near a woman. Go on, Boozy, I’ll follow.”