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Updated: June 15, 2025
Uncle Mathew's eyes narrowed themselves to fiery malicious points; he dropped them and moved his feet restlessly on the soft carpet. "Quite respectable!" he repeated. Aunt Anne smiled gently. "Why, of course, Mathew. I know you'll look after Maggie. It will be a change for her. She's been having rather a dull time here, I'm afraid." Then there was silence.
"Other sisters are helped by their brothers," she thought to herself, "and I but I shall show you this time, Damie, that you must stay where I put you, and that you dare not stir!" Such were Barefoot's thoughts as she hurried along; and at last she arrived at Coaly Mathew's.
She laid her cheek upon the quilt of the bed and, for the first time since Uncle Mathew's death, her thoughts worked in connected order, her courage returned to her, and she saw the room and the sun and the trees beyond the window as real objects, without the mist of terror and despair that had hitherto surrounded her.
Mathew's, has never had occasion to call the attention of the Executive of Georgia to the abuse of power consequent upon the imprisonment of colored seamen belonging to the ships of Great Britain in that port.
Ye who yearn and who at last embrace a heart, ye embrace along with it the love of all those who have ever been, or who ever shall be. One Sunday afternoon Barefoot, according to her custom, was leaning against the door-post of the house and gazing dreamily out before her, when Coaly Mathew's grandson came running up the street, beckoning to her from afar and crying: "He is come, Barefoot!
In due time they were all gladdened by the arrival of the pratique boat alongside, with Colonel Mathew's son, who took the party to the landing stage, where Boyton was highly honored by the presence of several officials who were waiting to offer him a welcome and their congratulations, for which purpose they had exposed themselves to the discomforts of a cold and cheerless morning.
There was no mistaking the way to Coaly Mathew's, even if one were to wander off from the foot-path. The smell of burning charcoal led one to him infallibly. How the birds are rejoicing in the trees!
Yet, though so many fell away from their temporary exaltation, there were still large numbers who remained firm, and the lasting good from Father Mathew's work was undeniable. So popular was John McArdle's house, that it was used as one of the lodges of the Ancient Order of Hibernians then very strong in Liverpool, and stout champions of country and creed.
All her life she had depended upon her own self-reliance, but now that had left her. She felt as though she could not move unless there was some one somewhere who cared for her. But there was no one. Katherine Mark. No, she certainly could never go there again. Behind all this was the constant preoccupation that she must not look, for an instant, at Uncle Mathew's death.
They walked very happily along laughing and talking. They turned into Henrietta Street, misty with lamps that were dim in a thin evening fog, and at the corner of the street, facing the Square, was Uncle Mathew's hotel. It was a place for the use, in the main, of commercial gentlemen, and it was said by eager searchers after local colour, to have retained a great deal of the Dickens spirit.
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