The alderman raised his heavy face with fine innocence.
"Where did it come from?" he asked.
"Misther Degnan's yaards," the woman answered.
"Thin I suppose't was Degnan himsilf sint it."
"Aw, there now!" the old woman cried, with the triumph of a vindicated prophet. "Oi knowed ye'd saay that, Oi knowed ye'd saay that—but, shure Oi think't was yersilf done it."
"L'ave off, l'ave off, now," said Malachi almost roughly, "'tis no place, do ye mind, fer a woman, an' no place fer th' laad." He gave the boy a penetrating glance that made the shifting eyes fall suddenly. "An' 'tis late—did ye come down on th' caar?"
The old woman's tears running down her cheeks had left stains in the wrinkles, and she began plucking at something under her shawl. Presently she drew forth a handkerchief folded in a soft little white square, fresh and clean from the iron, and shaking it out she dabbed at her weak old eyes and wiped away the tear stains. Her voice was a whisper again.
