“Not for her sake, God knows,” he explained; “but bekase the poor baste was frettin’ an’ I cudn’t see him there wid no wan to look to him.”
He refused, however, to style the animal “King William,” and called it “Billy” instead, a name which it soon learned to answer.
One evening, when the whitewashed room was all aglow with crimson light that flooded through the western window, Mrs. Macfarlane returned to consciousness. Mary was sitting by the bedside, sewing, having sent out the children in charge of Kitty to secure quiet in the house. For a long time, unobserved by her nurse, the sick woman lay feebly trying to understand. Suddenly she spoke—
“What is the matter?”
Mary jumped.
“To be sure,” she said, laying down her needlework, “’tis very bad you were intirely, ma’am; but, thanks be to God, you’re betther now.”
“Where am I?” asked Mrs. Macfarlane, after a considerable pause.
“In the station house, ma’am. Sure, don’t ye know me? I’m Mary O’Brien.”
“Mary O’Brien—O’Brien?”
“Yis, faith! Jim O’Brien’s wife.”