i was doing up the bed in mr. wolley’s room whin miss claire walked in. she wint into her father’s closet and cam out wid her arms fool of his cotes. these she set on the bed and camly wint to wark sarching throo his pockits. after a bit she cam upon what shes looking for—the fat litter which arrived yisterday. she held it in her hand a sicond her eyes closing oop. thin suddintly she wint over to the fire place. she toar the litter acrosst, invillip and all, then neeling throo it into the grate and set it on fire. joost thin her father cam in, and she looked oop at him and smiles.
“why claire” ses he, “what are you doing?”
“papa” ses she, “sumthing told me that he had ritten. i soospected you yisterday. i’ve just been burning the litter. hereafter papa” ses she, “whin anny more such litters cum, trate thim in the same way—burn thim—burn them—burn them” ses she.
thin she stared up at him wid her cheeks all red and feverish, and she cryed out suddintly, “oh papa! papa!” ses she, crowched doon on the harth and sobbed wid her face all ooncuvvered and the teers joost poring down.
“my puir claire!” ses the auld man brokenly; then he seen me and spoke in a feerce voyce:
“lave the room delia!” ses he.
this arfternoon mrs. wolley cum down to the kitchen. she’s very figitty and nerviss and she skurce looked me in the face at all.
“delia” ses she, “yure moonth is oop on the 12th. we’ve decided to let you go.”
i cudn’t spake at all fur the loomp in me mouth. i wint to the sink and foosed aboot wid the dishes.
mrs. wolley continued unasily.
“you understand delia” ses she, “we’ve no complaint to make aboot you. you’re a good cook and excellent in ivery way—but claire—claire isn’t very well and we must humour the child. the fack is delia, the very site of you seems to recall a sartin unplissant person to her mimmry.”
“oh ma’am,” ses i, “indade i wud cut me hed orf for miss claire, but indade,” ses i, “it’s sad i’d be to lave the child as such a time. let me stay ma’am, if oanly till ye go to town in october.”
“no” ses she, shaking her hed, “it’s better not.”
i set down and thort the matter over. why shud i be turned out in this fashun ses i to mesilf. it’s a shame, a crool shame it is. it was thin mr. mulvaney cum sontring in and befure i know wat i’m about i’m telling him the story of me sorrers.
“bad cess to thim all!” ses he, “they desarve to lose a fine girl like you, delia, and if ye’d lissen to my airging it’s laving thim ye’d be to-day and stipping wid me over to father dugan’s. these wolleys do be a trubblesum famly. shure they’ve toorned the hole poynt oopside doon wid thrubble. i heer that the robbins are arfter being beside thimsilves wid feer of mr. james. now delia” ses he, “ef ye’ll not be heering to the praste, thin it’s anuther bit of advice i’m arfter giving you. stip across to the widdy bangs’ house,” ses he, “and tell her your thrubbles,” ses he. “i’ll bet me job aginst the frinchman’s that she’ll fix you all rite wid the family.”
so i wint over to the widdys house. a spoonky little culloured maid opened the frunt dure. she guv a luk at me face—ignoring me best clothes on me body and ses she:
“go to the back dure,” ses she. “i recave me collars there.”
“it’s mrs. bangs” ses i “i want to see.”
“mrs. bangs,” ses she, “is ingaged wid mr. wolley.”
i heerd the widdy’s voyce inside and prisintly she cum oot and ses:
“hoo is it lilly,” ses she, (my god! the nigger’s name was lilly and she black as hell).
“why, it’s delia!” sez the widdy.
“can i spake to you a minnit, mam!” ses i.
“why certinly delia. whot is it,” ses she.
i wint to throw me aprun over me hed but fownd i’d left it at home, so i set up a paneful cry widout it. “oh wirrah! wirrah!” ses i, “it wuz an avil day whin i crossed the oshun. oh mam” sez i, “it’s a cruel warld and peeple do be hard on a poor hardwarking crachure wid niver a frind in the world.”
the widdy looked as if she were aboot to larf, but she’s that sorry fer me she controlled hersilf. she poot her hand on me shoulder and ses she kindly:
“cum! what is it, delia? my deer?”
“mrs. wolley do be arfter firing me, mrs. bangs,” ses i, “and all because i’m odyiss in the site of miss claire and all because i hilped her meet mr. harry doodly—the crool faithless good-for-nothing villyun” ses i.
“you poor crachure,” ses she, “and you want me to spake fur you. why, of coorse i will. i’ll go rite over and appeel to claire’s sinse of justiss.”
whin i was gitting ondrissed to-nite i herd me dure opening, and i guv a lowd yill, fer i’m in me chimmy aloan. as miss clair cum in, i rooshed into me closet, and i spoak to the child frum behind the harf closed dure.
“what is it darlint?” ses i “its ashamed i am fur you to see me in dishabeel and me wid twinty bunyuns on me feet and moles on me ligs and arms. what is it swatehart?”
“delia” ses she in the gintlest voyce, “plase forgive me for my croolty and ingratichude. i’ve been thortless and oongrateful too” ses she, spaking into the closet, “for aven oonder the sircumstunses i don’t regret—harry. so you’ll stay—won’t you delia?” ses she.
“stay miss?” ses i, “why darlint you cuddent roon me out wid a steem roller.”
