rose in his heart, and was overwhelmed in a greater wave of pity.
"Oh, mother," he cried, choking, "you are—you are—in all the world"—His voice was stifled again. "If ever I'm of any use in my life, it's all—it's all"—
He was on the verge of breaking down utterly; and no one can tell whether her bravery, great as it was, would have sufficed for both. But suddenly, in the tense quiet of the room, there sounded a knocking at the door that shut them in from the outside world. It was a strange series of raps, uncertain, hesitating, fumbling.
The woman's face grew very white. The boy pulled himself together, and rose.
"They 've come," he said. "It's the Maltee."
The knocking sounded sharp on the frosty wood as he crossed the room. The door swung open, letting in a flood of freezing cold and of sunshine; and there on the half millstone that formed the doorstep was a little black ape of a man, in a blue reefer and teamster's cap, with gold rings in the stubby lobes of his ears.
