It was the Sabbath Fire-Woman who, appropriately enough, kindled the
next glimmer of hope in Zillah's bosom. The one maid-of-all-work, who
had supplied all the help and grandeur Zillah needed in her
establishment, having transferred her services to a husband, Zillah
was left searching for an angel at thirteen pounds a year. In the
interim the old Irishwoman who made a few pence a week by attending to
the Sabbath fires of the poor Jews of the neighbourhood, became
necessary on Friday nights and Saturdays, to save the household from
cold or sin.
"Och, the quare little brat!" she muttered, when she first came upon
the pale, gnome-like figure by the fender, tapping the big book, for
all the world like the Leprechaun cobbling.
"And can't he see at all, at all?" she asked Zillah confidentially one
Sabbath, when the boy was out of the room.
Zillah shook her head, unable to speak.
"_Nebbich!_" compassionately sighed the Fire-Woman, who had corrupted
her native brogue with "Yiddish." "And wud he be borrun dark?"
"No, it came only a few months ago," faltered Zillah.
The Fire-Woman crossed herself.
"Sure, and who'll have been puttin' the Evil Oi on him?" she asked.
Zillah's face was convulsed.
"I always said so!" she cried; "I always said so!"
"The divil burrun thim all!" cried the Fire-Woman, poking the coals
viciously.
"Yes, but I don't know who it is. They envied me my beautiful child,
my lamb, my only one. And nothing can be done." She burst into tears.
"Nothin' is a harrd wurrd! If he was _my_ bhoy, the darlint, I'd cure
him, aisy enough, so I wud."
Zillah's sobs ceased. "How?" she asked, her eyes gleaming strangely.
"I'd take him to the Pope, av course."
"The Pope!" repeated Zillah vaguely.
"Ay, the Holy Father! The ownly man in this wurruld that can take away
the Evil Oi."