The mother was asleep, but on her face was a strange change—a something that he had never seen there before, worn and sunken as it always was. It made him understand Mart's fears.
“I'll go,” he said huskily, and rushed from the house.
“Her” carriage was just rolling down the avenue as his swift feet cleared the alley. He knew the horses. He was a little ahead of them; but it was not probable that the driver would stop for him.
“Won't you stop that carriage?” he said in breathless haste to a policeman at the corner; “I've got to speak to the lady that's in it.”
“I'll be quite likely to, no doubt!” said the policeman, in quiet irony. “What rascality are you up to now, Dirk? Can't you be decent for a few days?”
But Dirk was trying to free himself from the detaining hand, and threw up one arm in a sort of despairing gesture to the coachman. Mr. Roberts caught the signal, recognized the face, and in another moment the horses stood restlessly by the curb-stone, and Dirk, his embarrassment gone, told his brief story rapidly.
“Father went off a spell ago, and never came back; and mother, she is sickly, and it set her crying; and she's going, Mart thinks, and I guess it's so; and Mart wants you to come and show her the way. She said you knew how, and you would come.”