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Aunt Tildy was the first inmate at Todd's, and if Eph had possessed no other recommendation to eternal beatitude, surely Aunt Tildy's prayers had been sufficient. She passed his house on her way to the poor farm on the very day that news of the legacy arrived, and Eph had stopped the carriage and begged the overseer to leave her with him.
"I've come, miss," she said, "to see our Miss Maggie." "Miss Howland is out," said Aneta. "Oh, miss!" replied Tildy, the corners of her mouth beginning to droop, "that's crool 'ard on me. Do you think, miss, if I may make so bold as to inquire, that Miss Maggie 'll be in soon?" "I do not think so," replied Aneta; "but I can convey any message you like to her, if you will trust me."
In steaming, chattering, cabbage-scented Bogle's there was almost a heart tragedy. Tildy with the blunt nose, the hay-coloured hair, the freckled skin, the bag-o'-meal figure, had never had an admirer. Not a man followed her with his eyes when she went to and fro in the restaurant save now and then when they glared with the beast-hunger for food.
Tildy listened to the adventure with breathless admiration. No man had ever tried to follow her. She was safe abroad at any hour of the twenty-four. What bliss it must have been to have had a man follow one and black one's eye for love! Among the customers at Bogle's was a young man named Seeders, who worked in a laundry office. Mr.
"We'll ring the bell now," said Martin, wiping a few crumbs from his mouth and dusting his trousers with his pocket-handkerchief. "We'll get Tildy to remove all these things, and then what do you say to my taking you for a drive to the Park?" "Oh, I should like that!" said Mrs. Howland in surprise, "Thought so. Never say that Bo-peep isn't thoughtful. Ah, here you be, Tildy.
Mother understood never any fresh air, never any tempting food; Tildy, that poor little faithful girl as servant slavey was her right name; Tildy at every one's beck and call, always with a smut on her cheek, and her hair so untidy, and her little person so disreputable; and mother alone, wondering how she could make two ends meet.
Tildy helped her into a dark-brown merino dress, one of her extensive trousseau. Mrs. Martin then went downstairs, prepared to show these visitors that she was "as good as them, if not better." But the glimpse of the carriage and horses which she got through the lobby-window very nearly bowled her over. "Go in, mum, now; you've kept them waitin' long enough.
They tried to keep the news from Martha's ears, but somehow it leaked into them, and when Jim came home on that evening she looked into her husband's face with a strange, new expression. "Oh, Jim," she cried weakly, "'Tildy done gone, an' me jes' speakin' ha'd 'bout huh a little while ago, an' that po' baby lef thaih to die! Ain't it awful?" "Nev' min'," said Jim, huskily; "nev' min', honey."
Leave the room." Tildy breathed a little quickly, felt inclined to pat master on the back, thought better of it, and left the room. "Whatever is keeping Little-sing?" thought Martin to himself. He was not going to worry about cook and her whims, but of Little-sing and the letter. He grew a little more suspicious, and consequently a little more angry.
"I'm your Aunt Tildy. I have something to say to you by and by." The figure vanished, and presently the lad heard his aunt say: "What are you fussin' about, Mr. Dopples? Can't a body stir 'thout you havin' a fit?" "I only wanted to know where ye were," was the shock headed man's reply. "What are ye progin' round this time o' night for?" "Cause I want to. Now shet up and go to sleep."
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