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"You are coming home with me, and you shall sleep and eat, and sleep and eat, until you are as lively as the Widow Malone, ohone, and twice as fat. Home, Dawnie dear, where we'll forget all about New York. Home, with me." I reached up uncertainly, and brought her hand down to my lips and a great peace descended upon my sick soul. "Home with you," I said, like a child, and fell asleep.
"Cooky!" echoes Sheila, pounding on the kitchen table with the rescued basting spoon. "You can't have cookies before dinner. They're bad for your insides." "Can too," disputes Hans. "Fwieda dives us tookies. Want tooky!" wailingly. "Please, ple-e-e-ease, Auntie Dawnie dearie," wheedles Sheila, wriggling her soft little fingers in my hand.
Teddy and Billy were the two eldest, and they were brave, able boys. But Jack was the youngest, a gauchy, dawnie sort of a lad that was good for nothing only feeding fowls and doing odd turns about the house. When they grew up to be men, Teddy and Billy one day said they'd go away to travel and see the world, for they'd only be good-for-nothing omadhauns if they'd stay here all their lives.
If he could see me now he would say: "Sure, you look like the dawn yet, me girl but a Pittsburgh dawn." At that, Mother, if she were here, would pat my check where the hollow place is, and murmur: "Never mind, Dawnie dearie, Mother thinks you are beautiful just the same." Of such blessed stuff are mothers made.
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