“Drunk,” said the child simply, and without the most remote intention of injuring her parent’s character. Indeed, that was past injury. “She’s in there.”
The child pointed to a closet, in which Stephen found on the floor a heap of unwomanly rags. He was unable to arouse the poor creature, who slumbered heavily beneath them. Eve said she had been there for many hours.
“She forgot to give me my breakfast before she went in, and I’m too weak to rise and get it for myself,” whimpered Eve, “and I’m so hungry! And I got such a fright, too, for a man came in this morning about daylight and broke open the chest where mother keeps her money and took something away. I suppose he thought I was asleep, for I was too frightened to move, but I could see him all the time. Please will you hand me the loaf before you go? It’s in that cupboard.”
We need scarcely add that Lockley did all that the sick child asked him to do—and more. Then, after watching her till the meal was finished, he rose.
“I’ll go now, my pretty,” he said, “and don’t you be afeared. I’ll soon send some one to look after you. Good-bye.”
Stephen Lockley was unusually thoughtful as he left Widow Mooney’s hut that day, and he took particular care to give the Blue Boar a wide berth on his way home.