“Yes, Bobbie. That was your poor dear mother, and a lovinger heart never breathed. Not in this world at any rate.” Mrs. Rastin uncorked the flask and sniffed at it. “But you must cheer up, you know, because it was to be, and all flesh is grass, and we shall meet, please God—” Mrs. Rastin took a sip.
“And there’s many a kid,” chimed in the other neighbour, “that’s just as bad off as you, my lad, losing both their parents, and you mustn’t think you’re the only one, ye know. You want a glass, Mrs. Rastin.”
The boy did not cry. His mouth twitched slightly, and he frowned as though endeavouring to understand clearly the position of affairs.
“Old man died,” he said slowly, “soon after I was born, and now the old gel’s gone.”
“Yes, Bobby! Run and get a lump of sugar, Mrs. What-is-it, out of my caddy.”
“So,” said the boy, “it ’mounts to this. I ain’t got no fawther and I ain’t got no mother.”
“That’s about it, Bobbie.”
The boy jerked his chin and commenced to unlace his boots rather fiercely.
“Dem bright look out for me,” he said.