"Yes, mum," he answered, grinning, but he did not desist from his duties.
"He's one of thim furriners, who don't know what ye're sayin', I suppose," she observed, resignedly.
When the conductor made his last round of the cars, before the lamps were extinguished, Nancy stopped him and questioned anxiously, "Ye'll be sure to waken me at Chicago?"
"Why, ma'am, we won't arrive there until tomorrow evening," he answered.
"So ye say, but I'm strange to the run o' trains, an' I don't want to be goin' miles past the place and niver know it," she objected.
"Never fear, missus, you'll be looked after properly," he said, consolingly.
The night and day journey to Chicago was so full of pleasant happenings that Nancy could scarcely realize it was almost over. With the Morris baby asleep in her arms, she would gaze from the window at the panorama of country drifting past, interested in its strangeness only in a superficial sort of way, while her inmost thoughts pictured the great city to which she was going, and wherein she expected her son to be the most predominant figure. Each hour seemed to be bringing him closer to her, and a mild yearning centred about her heart. Occasionally a twinge of apprehension would mar her tranquillity. She wondered if he would know her, and if he had received the postcard which she had written with so much care a week previous. She was too conscious of her happiness to let such thoughts disturb her for long, and then Mrs. Morris lived in Chicago and had promised to watch over her welfare until she was safe in Corney's keeping.
The gradual increase in houses clustered into villages along the way warned her of the near approach to her destination.
"I hope I may see more of ye," she observed to Mrs. Morris, after a long silence of reflection.
"It's a big city, and you will be very busy," the little lady explained. "But I shall never forget your kindness to me. I should have been very lonely and tired if you hadn't made friends," she continued.