ould I see her before she goes?"

"What for?"

"Just to cheer her up a bit," pleaded the boy.

The two men looked at each other, and Hamilton's new acquaintance
nodded.

"You won't say anything about these telegrams," the chief warned him.

"No--very well," said Hamilton, "but it seems a shame that she doesn't
know."

The three passed through the door to the yard beside the lawns, and
there Hamilton encountered one of the most desolate groups he had ever
seen, sitting and standing in all attitudes of dejection. Among them was
a little old lady with snow-white hair, walking with a stick, but
clear-eyed and brisk-looking.

"You're Mrs. Mahoney?" the boy asked.

"I'm Bridget Mahoney, young masther," the old Irishwoman answered, "at
your service, sorr."

"I hear you haven't found your son yet," Hamilton said; "did you write
to him before you left the old country?"

"I did, dear, but I intoirely disremember what I did wid the letther. I
know I intinded to give it to Mickey O'Murry, but I'll niver tell ye
whether I did give it to him, an' if I did, there's no knowin' av he
posted it. 'Tis a difficult thing to remember, this letther-postin' and
maybe he forgot."

"But what did you write on the envelope? Can't you remember what you
wrote?"

"'Tis I that am the poor hand for writin', young masther, but there was
no schoolin' when I was a gurrl such as there is now. Jim, that's me
son, he makes shift to read me writin', but he always sinds me a written
envelope to put me answer in so that the postman can read it. An' so I
niver learnt the address. I thought, av course, he'd be here. But he
isn't, dear, an' so I must thravel all the weary way home again."

"But you don't sail till morning," said Hamilton, as cheerfully as he
could, "and maybe he'll come by then. I have a feeling, Mrs. Mahoney,
that he's just surely going to come."

"I'm not thinkin' it," the old woman said bravely, "but I take it
kindly, young masther, that ye should thry an' make the goin' easy. But
it isn't easy, 'tis a hard returnin'. An' me so proud that me son should
send for his ould mother. 'Tis a great country this America, but it's
too big. I'd niver 'ave lost me Jim in the ould country. I see they're
callin' us, an' I wish ye an ould woman's blessin', young masther, for
your cheerin' me at the last."

With a certain dignity, the old woman turned away and shook hands with
all the officials, with whom she had become a favorite during th