pered. "Is n't that—Yes it is. She 's coming back. She has n't met him.… That 's all right now. You must n't let her go out again."
"Thank Hiven," the cook said fervently. "I been keepin' her from goin' out with him any night these four weeks. She 's a mere child, raised in innocency. 'T was not like her to steal out so."
"There must be something wrong with her," he suggested.
"There is that," she said. "There 's somethin' wantin' to her an' she 'll niver find it in this town, though she seek it iver so. A home of her own back o' the boor-trees—an' a dip o' bog for to plant her pitaty slips in—an' a scraw fer her fire an' her man toastin' his big feet at it, an' the baby crawlin' between the legs of his chair, an' the neighbors droppin' in to gossip an' spit in the blaze—she 'll niver find it here! Niver, if she has my luck! An' it 's powerful small satisfaction she 'll get of writin' home to thim that has it, tellin' thim the big wages she earns an' sendin' thim money to Christmas—powerful small!"
While she had been talking, Beatty had seen a policeman stop to look up at the door and then saunter back toward his street corner. And Beatty was still frowning watchfully at the steps when he heard the cook say, "Whur 've yeh been to, Annie?" He turned to see the girl standing behind the grated basement door.
In a thick, blurred voice, fumbling slowly over her words, she replied: "Is that—is that—Jawn?" And Beatty's pipe clicked suddenly on his teeth.
