“And sure it’s many a maner man they’ve made their prisidints out on, and sorra a better one they’d find betune here and Canady.  It’s yees that have the free hand and the kind way wid yees, for all your grand looks.  The good Lord save and keep ye all the days of yer life!”

A wrinkle in the wristband here absorbed the attention of the laundress; and, while smoothing it out, she forgot to continue what she had been saying, but, as she once more ironed briskly upon the sleeve, began upon a new subject.

“And it’s late ye’re agin, Teddy Ginniss, bad ’cess to yees!  And thin it’s mesilf that should take shame for saying it; for niver a b’y of them all is so good to his ould mother, and niver a one of ’em all that his mother’s got so good a right to be proud on, as Ted.  But where is the cratur?  His supper’s cowld as charity wid stannin.”

At this moment a heavy step was heard upon the stairs, as of some one climbing slowly up with a heavy burden in his arms.  Mrs. Ginniss paused to listen, holding the iron suspended over the collar she had just smoothed ready for it.

“Murther an’ all!” muttered she.  “And what’s the crather got wid him anyhow?  Shure an it’s him; for, if it wor Jovarny with his orgin, he’d ha’ stopped below.”

The heavy steps reached the top of the stairs as she spoke, and clumped along the narrow passage to the door of Mrs. Ginniss’s garret.  She was already holding it open.

“Teddy, b’y, an’ is it yersilf?” asked she, peering out into the darkness.

“Yes, mother, its meself,” panted a boy’s voice, as a stout young fellow, about fifteen years old, staggered into the room, and sank upon a chair.

“Saints an’ angels, child! and what have ye got there?” exclaimed his mother, bending over the something that filled Teddy’s arms and lap.

“It’s a little girl, mother; and I’m feared she’s dead!” panted Teddy.

“A little girl, an’ she’s dead!  Oh, wurra, wurra, Teddy Ginniss, that iver I should be own mother to a murderer!  An’ is it yersilf that kilt the purty darlint?”

“Meself, mother!” exclaimed the boy indignantly.  “Sure and it wasn’t; and I wouldn’t ’a thought you’d have needed to ask.  I found her on a doorstep in Tanner’s Court:  and first I thought she was asleep, and so I shook her to tell her to go home before the Charley got her; and then, when she wouldn’t wake up, I saw she was either fainted or dead; and I fetched her home to you,—­and it’s you that go for to call me a murtherer!  Oh, oh!”

As he uttered these last sounds, the boy’s wide mouth puckered up in a comical look of distress, and he rubbed the cuff of his jacket across his blinking eyes.  Mrs. Ginniss gave him a slap, on the shoulder, intended to be playful, but actually heavy enough to have thrown a slighter person out of the chair.

“Whisht, honey, whisht!” said she.  “And it’s an ould fool I am wid me fancies an’ me frights.  But let us looks at the poor little crather ye’ve brought home to me.  Sure and it was like yees, Teddy, b’y.”