“It is she! My God! It is she!”
As Helen tottered forward, almost falling, Loney caught her and helped her to sit on the bench, aided by Morris.
Then Muriel, seizing the chance while all three were by the bench, hurriedly stepped to the door and up the steps, muttering:
“Mother and child together, and neither one knows it. This is my work, mine, mine! And then he wonders that I drink to drown it out.”
“Holt her up, Loney,” said Morris. “I will delephone Dora to pring a trink of vater. Der poor voman is sick.”
With a childlike innocence Morris picked up a tin-box with a string attached to it, and by dint of shouting very loudly his request to Dora to bring a glass of water, he made himself heard and she came with it, while the father was anxiously muttering:
“Mine Loney, dot voman is in a bad fix. She cannot speak nor see anydings, not now, but if she goes on like dis she will see more dings in a minute dan effer she see in her life pefore.”
Dora brought the water, and the dazed creature drank it as Morris held it to her lips without knowing what it was. The shoemaker had been half-afraid to give it, for fear of some convulsion, but as Helen drank it she revived somewhat and looked at Morris, then at Loney. She stared at the child with an intensity that surprised Dora and Morris, while she asked Loney, in a husky whisper:
“Who are you?”
“I am Loney.”