"Yes, Mrs. Dempsey, I had real good luck to-night. Was all sold out long
afore the other fellers, then hustled right home to baby. I hope she
wasn't no bother to ye, Mrs. Dempsey."
"Bother is it? The darlin', an' she as quiet as a little lamb. It's an
angel she is entirely an' ye'd think so yerself if ye could have seen
the nice supper of bread and milk she ate along with my own young ones."
"Does angels eat bread and milk, Mrs. Dempsey?" Peter asked the question
in all sincerity. He had often wondered about angels and he really
wanted to know.
"Oh, I guess they does," replied the good woman absently, too busy with
her cooking to pay much heed to what Peter was saying. "Goin', Peter?
Wish ye could stay and have a bite yerself, but I suppose if that
precious father of your'n come home and his supper warn't ready he'd
make it pretty hot for you, poor child. Well, good-night, Peter. Bring
the baby back in the morning."
"By the way, Peter," she called after him just as he was closing the
door. "To-morrow's Christmas day ye know. Don't forget to drop into the
church on yer way home and hear Mass, like a good boy."
Peter's ideas on the subject of religion were very vague. Mrs. Dempsey
had told him he must always attend Mass on Sunday and reminded him of
the fact every Saturday night when he would come to claim the baby.
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