Meanwhile, she
cut out and helped to sew a complete little outfit ("What she had before
was no better than rags!"); and Mrs. Ned soon learned to know on whom
she could lean and to whom she might turn, not only for practical aid,
but also for a never failing sympathy in what she called her "troubles."
"I vow your Mary's the kindest-hearted little soul it's ever been me
luck to run across," she averred one day to Mahony, who was visiting her
professionally. "So common-sense, too--no nonsense about HER! I
shouldn't have thought a gaby like Ned could have sported such trump of
a sister."
"Another pensioner for your CARITAS, dear," said Mahony, in passing on
the verdict. What he did not grieve his wife by repeating were certain
bad reports of Ned lately brought him by Jerry. According to Jerry--and
the boy's word was to be relied on--Ned had kept loose company in
Castlemaine, and had acquired the habit of taking more than was good for
him. Did he not speedily amend his ways, there would be small chance of
him remaining in his present post.
Here, Mahony was effectually roused by a stir on the verandah. Jinny had
entered the house to lay down her sleeping babe, and a third voice,
Purdy's, became audible. The wife had evidently brought out a bottle of
her famous home-brewed gingerbeer: he heard the cork pop, the drip of
the overflow on the boards, the clink of the empty glass; and Purdy's
warm words of appreciation.
Then there was silence.
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