“Molly,” said her mistress, smiling, “you are a good hand at telling us John Thompson's news; that is, any thing we know ourselves.”
“Well, ma'am, but you know many a time he goes to Dublin, an' doesn't come home by the coach.”
“Yes, whenever he visits Rilmainham Hospital, and gets into conversation with some of his old comrades; however, that's natural, and I hope he's safe.”
“Well, ma'am,” replied Molly, looking out, “I have betther news for you than Jenny Thompson's now.”
“Attention, Molly; John Thompson's the word,” said her mistress, with the slightest conceivable air of professional form; for if she had a foible at all, it was that she gave all her orders and exacted all obedience from her servant in a spirit of military discipline, which she, had unconsciously borrowed from her husband, whom she imitated as far as she could. “Where, Molly? Fall back, I say, till I get a peep at dear old Sam.”
“There he is, ma'am,” continued Molly, at the same time obeying her orders, “and some other person along with him.”
“Yes, sure enough; thank God, thank God!” she exclaimed. “But who can the other person be, do you think?”
“I don't know, ma'am,” replied Molly. “I only got a glimpse of them, but I knew the master at once. I would know him round a corner.”
“Advance, then, girl; take another look; reconnoitre, Molly, as Sam says, and see if you can make out who it is.”
“I see him now well enough, ma'am,” replied the girl, “but I don't know him; he's a stranger. What can bring a stranger here, ma'am, do you think?” she inquired.