Part 37 (1/2)

”Aw, my mother's as good as your mother!” boasted Henry, chivalrously.

”Dat can't be. Because you nefer _hat_ a mutter--you vas left in dat basket.” He pointed. ”Vasn't you? Und _my_ mutter”--proudly--”she iss dead.”

Peter lifted longing eyes. ”Gee, I wish _I_ had a mother.”

”A-a-a-ah!” Ikey waggled a wise head. ”You kids, you vould like goot mutters--und you git left in baskets. Und Momsey says dat lots of times mutters dat _iss_ goot mutters, dey don't haf no children.” Then to Henry, who, like Peter, had seized upon an excuse for pausing in his work, ”Here! Git busy mit de shears! Ofer by de vall iss plenty schnippin'.”

Henry tried flattery. ”I like to hear y' talk,” he confessed.

”Ve-e-e-ell,--” Ikey was touched by this appreciation of his philosophizing.

”And I'm kinda tired.”

Now Ikey's virtuous wrath burst forth. He fixed the tall boy with a scornful eye. ”Oh, you kicker!” he cried. ”You talk tired--und you do like you please! Und you say Momsey so much as you vant to! Momsey!

Momsey! Momsey! Momsey!” Each time the lawn mower squeaked and rattled its emphasis. ”Und de olt lady, she iss gone!”

All the sparrows watching the laboring trio from safe vantage points now rose with a soft whirr of wings and a quick chorus of twitters as Farvel opened the door from the Church and came out. A long black gown hung to his feet, but this only served to accentuate the paleness of his newly-shaven cheeks. ”Ah, fine!” he greeted kindly; ”the yard is beginning to look first-cla.s.s.” Then as the bearer of the telephone message now projected himself once more between the curtains of the drawing-room, this time to proffer a package, ”Not for me, is it, my boy?--Get it, Ikey, please.” He sat down wearily.

Ikey moved to obey, squinting back over a shoulder at the clergyman in some concern. But the package in hand, he puzzled over that instead as he came back. ”It says on it 'Mr. Farvel,'” he declared. ”Ain't it so?”

”Open it, old chap,” bade Farvel, without looking up.

Ikey needed no urging; and, his companions, once again welcoming an interruption, gathered to watch. Off came a paper wrapping, disclosing a box. Out came the cover of the box, disclosing--in a gorgeous confection of silk, lace, and tulle, with flowers in her flaxen hair, and blue eyes that were alternately opening and shutting with almost human effect as Ikey moved the box--a large and remarkably handsome lady doll.

”_Oy, ich chales.h.!.+_” cried Ikey, thrown back upon his Yiddish in the amazement of discovery.

Farvel sprang up, manifestly embarra.s.sed, reached for the box, and put it out of sight behind him as he sat again. ”Oh!--Oh, that's all right,” he stammered. ”It's for Barbara.”

”Bar-bar-a?” drawled the boy. Then following a pause, during which the trio exchanged glances, ”A little girl, she comes here?”

”Yes, Ikey; yes.--Have you boys dusted the drawing-room? You know Dora's not here today.”

”No, sir.” Peter and Henry backed dutifully toward the door of the Rectory.

But Ikey stood his ground. ”Does de little girl come by de basket?” he inquired.

”No, son; no. Dora will bring her.--Now run along like a good chap.”

Ikey backed a few steps. ”Does--does she come to de Orphanage?” he persisted.

”No. She's not an orphan.--You see that Peter and Henry put everything in shape, won't you?”

At this, Peter and Henry disappeared promptly. But Ikey only backed another step or two. ”Den she's got a mutter?” he ventured.

”Oh, yes--yes.--Be sure and dust the library.”

Ikey gave way another foot. ”Und also a fader?”

”Er--why--yes.”

Now Ikey nodded, and turned away. ”He ain't so sure,” he observed sagely, ”aboudt de fader.”