THE ANGEL MEETS AN OLD FRIEND.
A few days later Mrs. O'Malligan, in her best attire, and Miss
Bonkowski, also gotten up regardlessly even to an added bloom upon her
cheeks, sallied forth in the face of the first snowfall, to take the
Angel to St. Luke's Hospital, where, by appointment, Miss Ruth was to
meet them.
When in time they reached the building and Miss Stannard led the way up
to the Children's Ward, a white-capped nurse came forward between the
rows of little beds each with its child occupant, her finger on her
lips. "He is so much weaker to-day," she explained, "I would say he had
better not see any one, except that he will fret, so please stay only a
few moments," and she led them to where Joey lay, his white bed shut off
from his little neighbors by a screen. His eyes were closed and a young
resident physician was standing by the bed.
"We thought he was going for a while this morning," whispered the nurse,
but, low as she spoke, the Major heard. A ghost of a twinkle was in his
brown eyes as they opened and sought the doctor's. "I fooled 'em that
time, didn't I, Doc?" he demanded, and one trembling lid attempted its
old-time wink.
"You wanted Angel, Joey dear," said Miss Ruth, "and she has come to see
you."
The Angel's face was full of doubt and trouble, her eyes dark with
gathering tears. Frightened at this something she half-divined, but
could not understand, she drew near doubtfully. "Angel loves her Joey,
her does," she asserted, however, as if in refutation of her fears.
"Show her--my--gun," whispered Joey, and from the table where his eyes
could feast upon it, the nurse lifted a small rifle.
"The Cap'n give it ter me,--so I could be a--member of th'
Reg'ment--_now_--see? Ain't it a dandy--Angel?"
The child nodded gravely, but all the while her little breast was
heaving with the gathering sobs. Seeing Miss Norma also in tears, Miss
Ruth motioned her to take the Angel ahead, and leaving Mrs. O'Malligan
speaking to the nurse, Miss Ruth followed slowly after, talking with the
doctor as she went.
A moment later, the ward was startled by a cry from the hall beyond,
"Yosie,--Angel's Yosie!"
Miss Ruth and the doctor hurried out. In the hall in a rolling chair sat
a young woman to whose knees the Angel was clinging, amid sobs and
little cooing cries of joy. "Yosie, Angel's Yosie."
"Poor girl!" ejaculated the young doctor, "this may lead to her
identification. We do not even know her name," he explained to Miss
Stannard. "A case of paralysis,--almost helpless. Never has spoken since
brought here. Yes," in answer to Miss Ruth's eager inquiries, "she has
gotten so that she can make signs for yes and no."
At once Miss Stannard turned to the girl, from whose lap Norma was
trying to draw the expostulating Angel. "Do you know Angel?" she asked,
her hand on the child as she spoke.
There was a slight affirmative droop to the eyelids, while the gaze
beneath was fixed imploringly on Miss Ruth.
"Are you Rosy?" she asked.
"My Yosie, it _is_ my Yosie!" declared the Angel, with one of her little
bursts of baby rage, pulling away from Norma and stamping her foot,
frantic that any doubt should exist.
At this point, Mrs. O'Malligan, who had been following in her
comfortable fashion, unconscious of any excitement, drew near. Suddenly
there was an excited cry from that lady. "Howly Mither, an' it's Mrs.
Buckley's own sister, Rosy O'Brien, fer sure!"
The wild eyes of the sick girl turned towards Mrs. O'Malligan with signs
of recognition. The doctor repeated his story.
"She must have been Angel's nurse," said Miss Stannard.
"An' was it the darlint's nurse ye war, Rosy O'Brien?" inquired Mrs.
O'Malligan.
"Yes," signalled the eyelids, whereupon Mrs. O'Malligan, swaying her
body to and fro, and clapping her hands, burst forth suddenly, "I say
through wid it all, I say through wid it all! Ye brought the Angel
choild to the Tiniment wid ye to say your sister, now, didn't ye, Rosy,
me jewel?"
The good Irish lady waited for the affirmative droop from the eager
eyes.
"An' maybe ye found the door locked, an' not knowin' yer sister had
moved away an' Miss Johnson, what goes to the car stables a-cleanin' by
the day, livin' in her room now, ye set the choild down in the empty
room a-nixt to it, an' run down to ask me as to whir yer sister had
gone, now, didn't ye, Rosy O'Brien?" and Mrs. O'Malligan's garlanded
bonnet fell over one ear in the good soul's excitement.
Thus far apparently she was right.
"An' I wasn't to home, for sure I niver seen ye," ventured Mrs.
O'Malligan, her hands now on her hips as she gazed at the girl and
pondered.
She was right again.
"An' what happened thin, I niver can say no further!"
The doctor, referring to a note book, spoke next. "She was brought
here," he said, "on the seventh of last July, about six o'clock in the
evening, having been knocked down by a horse at the corner of Camden and
Lisiden Streets."
"Whist!" cried Mrs. O'Malligan, her shawl fallen to the floor, her
bonnet now hanging by the strings down her back, "that's our own corner,
an' it's as plain to me now as the nose on yer face! Not findin' me to
home, ye were runnin' over to the grocery to find out from yer sister's
husband's brother Bill whativer had become of the family!"
The sharp Irish lady had hit it again, and Miss Ruth here interrupted to
ask Miss Bonkowski if she could remember the date on which the child had
been found in the vacant room. After some thought and debate, Miss Norma
declared it to have been on the morning of the eighth of July, because
her own birthday came on the fifteenth and she remembered remarking the
child had then been with them a week.
But here the whole party came to a standstill, and the wild, imploring
look came back in poor Rosy O'Brien's eyes.
The doctor laid his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't fret, my
girl, it will all come right now in time. It is no wonder," turning to
Miss Stannard, "she has been so slow getting better. I have said a
hundred times the girl had something on her mind."
Miss Ruth turned to Rosy again. "Does the child's mother, or do her
people live here in the city?" she inquired.
The eyelids failed to move, which according to the doctor meant _no_.
"What will we do," sighed Miss Ruth, "for the more the child is asked,
the more perplexed we get, and now----"
"Sure an' we'll ask Mrs. Buckley, Rosy's sister, an' she'll tell us all
about it," said the practical Mrs. O'Malligan. "I remember well of her
tellin' me of the foine wages Rosy was a-gittin; along of her goin' off
so fur wid some rich lady as a nurse."
At this hopeful point the doctor interfered, thinking best to prevent
any further exciting of his patient, and accordingly wheeled her back
to her ward, leaving the others to soothe the terror of the child, at
seeing hope vanish with Rosy.
Pausing outside the big hospital in a trembling and excited little
group, Miss Stannard detailed her plans. As the snow was coming down
steadily, Miss Bonkowski should return to the Tenement at once with the
excited, sobbing child, and Mrs. O'Malligan should take Miss Ruth to
find Mrs. Buckley, the sister of poor Rosy O'Brien.
* * * * *
"And do you know," explained Miss Ruth that evening, to Mr. Dilke, who
had fallen into a way of calling quite frequently indeed, of late, "and
do you know, this woman, this Mrs. Buckley would not believe us, but
insisted that her sister, Rosy O'Brien, as well as the child her sister
had nursed, were drowned in that terrible ferry-boat disaster last July.
After what seemed to me hours of catechising, I got the story from her.
"A year ago, as I finally found out, her sister, this same Rosy
O'Brien, went South with a Mr. and Mrs. De Leon Breaux, whose child she
had been nursing at Narragansett during the summer.
"This spring, Mrs. Buckley, living then in the Tenement where the child
was afterward found, received a letter from Rosy, saying she would be in
the city with her mistress for a few days in July on their way to the
seashore for the summer.
"Meanwhile Mrs. Buckley moved, and being unable to write, left her new
address with Mrs. O'Malligan. But the summer passing and no Rosy
appearing, in September Mrs. Buckley grew anxious and got a friend to
write to the Breaux' address for her, inclosing a letter to Rosy.
"In answer came a reply from Mr. Breaux, which letter Mrs. Buckley
showed me. It stated that on the seventh of last July Rosy O'Brien and
the child, '_our little Angelique_,' the letter called her, had been
drowned while crossing the river on the ferry.
"Mrs. Breaux and her young sister, with Rosy O'Brien and the child, had
reached the city the day before, having come by steamer from New
Orleans, their home.
"According to the statement of a waiter at the hotel. Rosy, tired of
waiting for the return of the two ladies from a shopping expedition, and
having been promised the afternoon, started off soon after lunch with
the child, saying that she was going across the river on the ferry to
see her sister. This was the last seen of them.
"Mr. Breaux hurried North in response to his wife's summons, and some
days following the ferry disaster, which occurred shortly after the girl
left the hotel, a body was found in the river, which from its black
cashmere dress, white apron and plain gold ring, was identified as that
of poor Rosy.
"The girl had been taken on the recommendation of a former mistress and,
as so often is the case, the Breaux' knew neither the name nor the
address of this sister, and having,--in addition to the papers being
filled with the matter,--advertised in vain, the body was buried and,
despairing finally of recovering their child's body, they returned
South. Though don't think," said pretty Ruth suddenly regarding Mr.
Dilke's attentive face while she laughed, "that I received the story
from Mrs. Buckley in any such direct fashion. Such people are not only
illogical and irrelevant, they are secretive,--if ever you have to do
with them as my work leads me to, you'll understand what I mean. But to
continue with Mrs. Buckley. In order to convince her that neither Rosy
nor the child, despite her evidence, were dead, I took her straight back
to the hospital, and as she then admitted Rosy to be Rosy, any lingering
doubts were put at rest. And now you see why I was so relieved when you
came this evening. Mother has no better business head than I have, and I
want you to help me determine how best to let these Breaux know the
child is alive."
But Mr. Dilke, though far from a stupid young man, confessed himself a
little dazed by Miss Ruth's rapid and excited story. Whereupon,
laughing, she went over it again, adding, "And here is the address and
the name is De Leon Breaux, and how shall we word the telegram?"
And after much speculation the following was written and sent:
"Nurse-girl, Rose O'Brien, found in hospital, paralyzed.
Child safe and well.
"VAN ALSTINE DILKE,
"HOTEL ST. GEORGE."