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 a.s.serted, 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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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 rea.s.suringly. "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 seash.o.r.e for the summer.

"Meanwhile Mrs. Buckley moved, and being unable to write, left her new address with Mrs. O'Malligan. But the summer pa.s.sing 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 ap.r.o.n and plain gold ring, was identified as that of poor Rosy.