Trapes once more read aloud for
his edification from the wondrous circular, and was again propounding
the vexed and burning question of "who" when she was interrupted by a
knocking without, and going to the door, presently returned with little
Mrs. Bowker, in whose tired eyes shone an unusual light, and whose faded
voice held a strange note of gladness.
"Good evenin', Mr. Geoffrey!" said she, bobbing him a curtsey as he rose
to greet her, "my Hazel sends you her love an' a kiss for them last
candies--an' thank ye for all th' medicine--but oh, Mr. Geoffrey, an'
you, Ann Trapes, you'll never guess what's brought me. I've come t' wish
ye good-by, we're--oh, Ann, we're goin' at last!"
"Goin'!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, clutching at her elbows, "y' never mean
as you're leavin' Mulligan's now the rent's been took down--re-dooced
fifty per cent.--by order?"
"That's just what I'm tellin' ye--oh, Ann, ain't it just--heavenly!"
"Heavenly!" repeated Mrs. Trapes, and sank into a chair.
"Yes, heavenly t' see th' trees an' flowers again--t' live among them,
Ann.
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