"I'll go for it," said Margaret. And in a few minutes she returned, carrying Johnnie, his face all smeared with eating, and his hands loaded with treasures in the shape of shells, and bits of crystal, and the head of a plaster figure. She placed him in his mother's arms.
"There!" said the woman, "now you go. They'll cry together, and comfort together, better nor any one but a child can do. I'll stop with her as long as I'm needed, and if yo' come to-morrow, yo' can have a deal o' wise talk with her, that she's not up to to-day."
As Margaret and her father went slowly up the street, she paused at Higgins's closed door.
"Shall we go in?" asked her father. "I was thinking of him too."
They knocked. There was no answer, so they tried the door. It was bolted, but they thought they heard him moving within.
"Nicholas!" said Margaret. There was no answer, and they might have gone away, believing the house to be empty, if there had not been some accidental fall, as of a book, within.
"Nicholas!" said Margaret, again. "It is only us. Won't you let us come in?"
"No," said he. "I spoke as plain as I could, 'bout using words, when I bolted th' door. Let me be, this day."
Mr. Hale would have urged their desire, but Margaret placed her finger on his lips.
"I don't wonder at it," said she. "I myself long to be alone. It seems the only thing to do one good after a day like this."
