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Updated: September 25, 2025
O'Malligan indignantly, "sure an' we moight have larned all about her by this toime, entoirely, for there's mony a thing she's tried to tell us an' can't for the want of a worrud.
O'Malligan, with many apologies, went out into the back court to hang out the last of the family wash, and on her return, stopping short in the doorway, her jolly red face spread into a responsive smile.
And on that eventful Christmas Day, when the guests who were bidden had arrived, it was discovered that the object most desired of each good lady's heart, was to be found on, or around the base of that Tree. Perhaps if Mrs. O'Malligan had explained the meanings of the many mysterious conferences that had taken place lately in her first floor front, the ladies might better have understood.
For once she seemed to be meeting, in real life, a situation worthy of the boards of The Garden Opera House, in whose stage vernacular a missing child was always a "lost innocent." "If we do not call on the police, Mrs. O'Malligan, how are we to ever find the child's mother?"
"A gwate, big girl," repeated the baby, nodding her pretty head approvingly, "that what Yosie say," then with abrupt change of tone, "where her breakfast, her wants her milk!" "An' she shall have it, sure," cried Mrs. O'Malligan promptly, and retired out the door with heavy haste, while Miss Bonkowski hospitably turned to bring forth what the apartment could boast in the way of breakfast.
"Sure an' it shall go to its mammy," returned Mrs O'Malligan soothingly, "an' whir was it ye left her, me Angel?" "Yes, tell its Norma where it left its mamma," murmured Miss Bonkowski coaxingly. "Yosie bring Angel way a way," explained the baby obediently. "Yosie say Angel be a good girl and her come yite back.
O'Malligan's lap, and eluding Mary's absent hold, proceeded to journey about the room, until reaching the open door, she took her way, unobserved, out of the O'Malligan first floor front and leaving its glories of red plush furniture and lace curtains behind her, forthwith made her way out the hall door into the street.
A strike at a neighboring foundry, the shutting down of the great rolling-mill by the river had sent their husbands home for a summer vacation, with, unfortunately, no provision for wages, a state of affairs forbidding even angels' visits, when the angel possessed so human a craving for bread. Even Mrs. O'Malligan, whose chief patron, Mrs.
"That's what she is, the darling yonder," declared Miss Bonkowski from the curbstone, nodding airily, "you've got it straight this time, Joey. And if what Peter O'Malligan says about your picking her up just now is so, you're welcome to come over some time and play with her."
"She must have been Angel's nurse," said Miss Stannard. "An' was it the darlint's nurse ye war, Rosy O'Brien?" inquired Mrs. O'Malligan. "Yes," signalled the eyelids, whereupon Mrs. O'Malligan, swaying her body to and fro, and clapping her hands, burst forth suddenly, "I say through wid it all, I say through wid it all!
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