The Prodigal Imp
felt when their boys cared so little for them as to be willing to run away.
He wept quietly on her white lawn shoulder, wiping his eyes at intervals on the lace of her tie, and leaving grimy smudges on her sleeve, while she kissed his hot little head and sang him to sleep.
As he drifted off he seemed to hear a familiar voice, that, indeed, of James O'Connor, describing to Katy Nolan the appearance of what he called "a rale foine collie pup as iver was, that Misther Stanley had talk about buyin' and l'avin' here whin he wint back to the city."
It was too good to be true, and it may have been a dream: the Imp was almost sure it was. And yet it might be true, and if it were, how unjustly he had blamed his Uncle Stanley! And thinking how polite he would be to grown people, and how kind to the collie pup—if it were true—the Imp fell fast asleep.
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