“Delia” ses she in the gintlest voyce, “Plase forgive me for my croolty and ingratichude. I’ve been thortless and oongrateful too” ses she, spaking into the closet, “for aven oonder the sircumstunses I don’t regret—Harry. So you’ll stay—won’t you Delia?” ses she. “Stay miss?” ses I, “Why darlint you cuddent roon me out wid a steem roller.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXIX ANOTHER DAY It do be thray weeks to-day sinse Miss Claire’s after announsing her ingagemint to Mr. Vandybilt. The family kept silinse upon the subjeck. Its a straynge and sad house its after being now. Both Mr. John and James wint back to there rayspictif places in the city on Siptimber 1st after having spint the intyre summer doing there fine riting at the hoose. Mr. James do be a famiss riter and theres hardly a paper pooblished but has a pichure of himself looking out frum the frunt page, bauld and agrissive looking, for shure the lad do have his back oop aginst the intyre warld. Hes joyned the Soshilist and Anykist ordher I’m after reeding in the papers, and its intinded by him (ses wan of the papers, which always nos a person’s plans befure there made) to live in the slooms for the rist of his life, devoating himsilf to sittlemint wark amang the Rooshin Jews. Mr. Wolley’s masheen broak down aboot a fortnite ago, and the auld gintleman is like a child widout his favrite toy. He do be wayting ivery day for the new carbureater to arrive, and manewile he spinds all his time fooling aboot wid the masheen that isn’t rooning anny longer. Mrs. Wolley has dridful narviss hidakes, injooced so she told me in confydunse as mooch by her wurry over Miss Claire as frum anny uther cause. As for Miss Claire hersilf. Puir child! She do be that quite and shrinking in her ways. Theres skurcely a site I’m getting of the child ixcipt at meal times. Its not warth intering up the milincully ivints of the sad days, and shure I’ll be glad indade whin we move back to town in a few weeks now. There be no troo Nites abownding in this sad and loansum country, for the Nites are an avarashus lot. Since the news wint abrord that I’m having me little bit of forchune in the bank, I’ve been pestered wid the dummed forchune hoonters till I begin to look wid soospischun on ivery dummed man that spakes to me at all. Ah, its a sad thing to be ritch in these days, for the lads cum acoorting wid wan eye on yere pockit and the ither on yere face. Since museer infarmed me of the greedy hart of Mr. Mulvaney its never a sivil ward I’ve handed the lad since, and he pretinding to be beside himsilf wid disthress and begging me ivery day to go wid him to the praste.