"Now," she said, jerking the table around before Mary, then sitting down and taking up the child, "you drink that, Mary Carew, before you dare to say one word!"
The child responded promptly to the warmth and food and began to chatter. "C'rew did take Angel away, Norma, and it was cold and Angel cwied, and C'rew cwied, but the nice lady sang."
"I tried to run off with her," sobbed Mary, "but the Lord stood right in my way an' turned me back."
"Whatever do you mean, Mary?" demanded Norma.
"Just that, just what I said. I was a-runnin' off so's to keep her fer my own, an' th' Lord stopped me an' sent me back."
The child, nodding on Norma's knee like a rosy little Mandarin, caught the sacred name. "I p'ay the Lord mine and Joey's and eve'ybody's soul to keep," she murmured with drowsy effort, thinking C'rew was urging her to say the little prayer Miss Ruth had taught her.
"He will, He will," said Mary Carew with awed emphasis, "if ever I doubted it before, Norma, I know now He will. I had been walkin' a good while after I left here, for I had laid my plans hasty-like, to cross the river an' get a room on the other side, for I was jus' outer my head, Norma, along of the thought of losin' her,-an' as I said, I had been walkin' I don' know how long, plannin' as I went, when the darlin' woke up, an' begun to cry. An' jus' then a man opened a door to come out of a place as had a great sign up, an' in the light as come out with him, he caught sight of us.
"'Haven't you no place to go fer shelter, my poor woman?' he says, for I was kinder breathless, an' pantin', fer the darlin' an' the bundle was a weight to carry. But I was that tired out, I couldn't say nothin' but jus' begin to cry. Seem' which he says, 'This is one of the All-Night-Missions, come in an' I will see if you may stay until morning.'
"Thinkin' as how th' child might be sufferin' with the cold, I follered him in, a-plannin' to leave at daylight an' get across the river. I set down on a bench where he pointed me, an' when I got my breath I begun to look around.
"It was a nice place, Norma, with picters round th' walls an' a good fire an' people sittin' round listenin' to a man talkin', an' when he stopped, a lady begun to sing a song about some sheep as were lost.
"Angel here, she had stopped crying soon as she got warm, an' now she set up, peart an' smilin', pleased to death with the singin'. An' when she was done her song, the lady went to talkin', an' right along, Norma, she was talkin' straight at me. It mus' have been th' Lord as tol' her to do it, else how did she know?
"'Rachel,' says she, an' I reckon this Rachel's another poor such a one as me, don't you, Norma?-'Rachel a cryin' for her children an' there wasn't any comfort for her because they weren't there!' That's how she begun. 'There isn't no love,' she said, 'no love on earth like the love a mother has for her child, you might take it away,' she said, 'an' try to fill its place with money an' everything good in life, but you can't make her stop wantin' her child an' thinkin' about it, not if you was to separate them fifty years; or you might try to beat it out of a mother or starve it out of her, but if the mother love had ever been there, it'd be there still.' That's what she said, Norma. An' she s'posed like the child was lost an' she said, 'even if there was a lot of children besides that a one, would she stay at home, contented like, with them as was safe? No,' she said, 'that mother wouldn't, she'd start out and go hunt for the one as was lost,-even to faintin' along the way, till she found the child or give up an' died. That's how the Lord cares for us'-she said, but I didn't hear no more after that, for I jus' set there turned like to stone, goin' over what she said, the darlin' asleep again in my lap. An' seems like I must a set there for hours, Norma, fightin' against the Lord.
"'An' if you as ain't her mother wants her so,' at last, somethin' inside says to me, 'how much more must th' mother what's lost her want her?' and at that, Norma, the Lord won an' I got up an' come back with the child."
CHAPTER X. THE MAJOR OBEYS ORDERS.
"He's going fast." So the nurse whispered to Miss Stannard, as with Mr. Dilke and Old G. A. R., she came in that December afternoon. As the three neared the little bed, shut off by the screens from the rest of the ward, they found the Angel already there in the arms of a tall, dark gentleman, while by Joey's pillow knelt a slender lady with shining hair and grave, sweet eyes like the Angel's.
The Major tried to smile a welcome. "They've come-ter-carry-Angel home, they have," he whispered, "her dad-an' her-mammy."
The white hand of the Angel's "Mammy," took Joey's softly and her eyes were full of tears. "Joey is going home too," she said.
The Major's eyes wandered questioningly "The big-Angel's-come to get th' little Angel-but-my Mammy-ain't come-to get me?"
"She has not come, Joey dear," the soft voice explained, "because she is waiting for you. Joey is going to her."
The little voice was very weak now,-very wistful. "Goin'-now?" asked the Major.
"Yes, Joey."
His whisper could hardly be understood when after a long pause, he spoke again. "I-want-th' Cap'n-ter-gimme-th'-order,-'cause- I-b'long-ter-th' Reg'ment."
"What order, Major?" came from the Captain huskily.
"Old-G.-A.-R.-he knows-" the Major's voice could just be caught now.
Old G. A. R. who had given the order to those little feet so many times, knew and understood, and his big voice rolled out with suspicious unsteadiness now,-"Attention-Company!-Forward-" then the old soldier's voice broke as the little eyelids fluttered. Old G. A. R. could not go on.
"-March!" came softly from Van Alstine Dilke, and with a ghost of his old, roguish smile the Major's eyes closed, as he obeyed orders.
CHAPTER XI. TELLS OF THE TENEMENT'S CHRISTMAS.
The Angel had but a week in which to prepare Christmas for the Tenement, but with the help of her marshaled forces she did it. With such a company of grateful assistants as her Father, her Mother, and the pretty young Aunt or "Tante" as the Angel called her, all things seemed possible.
A Christmas Tree it was decreed by her small ladyship her Tenement should have, and Mrs. O'Malligan's first floor front, failing entirely in height or breadth to accommodate it, Mr. Dilke came forward and offered Miss Angelique the Armory in the name of the Fourth Regiment.
And such a Tree! How it towered to the oaken roof and lost itself among the beams, and laden, festooned, and decorated, how proudly it spread its great branches out to the balconies!
Mrs. O'Malligan, alone, of all the Tenement, was let into the secret, and when it was finally disclosed, how the hearts of the favored fluttered as the Angel delivered her invitations,-every lady, every lady's husband, and every son and daughter of the Tenement being bidden to come. Not to steal in at the back door, as if the Armory was ashamed of its guests, but to walk proudly around the square and enter boldly in at the front doors of the building. All of which tended to raise the self-respect of the Tenement, whose spirits went up very high indeed.
And on that eventful Christmas Day, when the guests who were bidden had arrived, it was discovered that the object most desired of each good lady's heart, was to be found on, or around the base of that Tree. Perhaps if Mrs. O'Malligan had explained the meanings of the many mysterious conferences that had taken place lately in her first floor front, the ladies might better have understood.
There was a pretty carpet, as well as lace curtains, long the desire of little Mrs. Tomlins' ambition, the set of "chiny" dishes dear to another good lady, a dress for this one, a bonnet, a nice rocking chair for that,-with new hats, pipes and tobacco around for the men,-and in addition for Mr. Tomlin, an entire suit of clothes and an overcoat, did that wonderful Tree shed upon his proud shoulders.