“I’ll be open an’ aboveboard with you, sir,” she said candidly.  “The world is certaintly small, an’ the way things happen is a caution.  Now, who’d ever have thought that you’d ‘a’ seen my Miss Claire, but I truly believe you have.  For after her father died she come to New York, the poor lamb! for to seek her fortune, an’ her as innercent an’ unsuspectin’ as my Sabina, who’s only three this minit.  She tried her hand at a lot o’ things, an’ thank God an’ her garden-angel for keepin’ her from harm, for as delicate an’ pretty as she is, she can’t help attractin’ attention, an’ you know what notions some as calls themselves gen’lemen has, in this town.  Well, Miss Claire is livin’ under my roof, an’ you can betcher life I’m on the job—­relievin’ her garden-angel o’ the pertectin’ end o’ the business.  But Miss Claire’s that proud an’ inderpendent-like she ain’t contented to be idle.  She’s bound to make her own livin’, which, she says, it’s everybody’s dooty to do, some ways or other.  So my eye’s out, as you might say, for a place where she can teach, like she’s qualified to do.  Did I tell you, she’s a college lady, an’ has what she calls a ‘degree,’ which I didn’t know before anythin’ but Masons like himself had ’em.

“You oughter see how my boy Sammy gets his lessons, after she’s learned ‘em to him.  She’s a wizard at managin’ boys.  My Sammy useter to be up to all sorts o’ mischief.  They was a time he took to playin’ hookey.  He’d march off mornin’s with his sisters, bold as brass, an’ when lunchtime come, in he’d prance, same as them, an’ nobody ever doubtin’ he hadn’t been to his school.  An’ all the time, there he was playin’ in the open lots with a gang o’ poor little neglected dagos.  I noticed him comin’ in evenin’s kinder dissipated-lookin’, but I hadn’t my wits about me enough to be onto’m, till his teacher sent me a note one day, by his sister Cora, askin’ what was ailin’ Sammy.  That night somethin’ ailed Sammy for fair.  He stood up to his dinner, an’ he wouldn’t ‘a’ had a cravin’ to set down to his breakfast next mornin’, only Francie put a pilla in his chair.  But Miss Claire, she’s got him so bewitched, he’d break his heart before he’d do what she wouldn’t like.  The thought of her goin’ away makes him sick to his stummick, the poor fella!  Yet, it ain’t to be supposed anybody so smart, an’ so good-lookin’ as her, but would be snapped up quick by them as has the sense to see the worth of her.  There’s no question about her gettin’ a job, the only worry I have is her gettin’ one that will take her away from this, out of New York City, where I can’t see her oncet in a while.  She’s the kind you’d miss, like you would a front tooth.  You feel you can’t get on without her, an’ true for you, you can’t.  But, beggin’ your pardon, sir, for keepin’ you so long with my talkin’.  If that’s all, I’ll get to my work.”

“That is all,” said Mr. Ronald, “except—­” He rose and handed her the locket.