during these days of torment, hal did not go to see “red mary”; but then, one evening, the minettis' baby having been sick, she came in to ask about it, bringing what she called “a bit of a custard” in a bowl. hal was suspicious enough of the ways of men, especially of business-men; but when it came to women he was without insight—it did not occur to him as singular that an irish girl with many troubles at home should come out to nurse a dago woman's baby. he did not reflect that there were plenty of sick irish babies in the camp, to whom mary might have taken her “bit of a custard.” and when he saw the surprise of rosa, who had never met mary before, he took it to be the touching gratitude of the poor!

there are, in truth, many kinds of women, with many arts, and no man has time to learn them all. hal had observed the shop-girl type, who dress themselves with many frills, and cast side-long glances, and indulge in fits of giggles to attract the attention of the male; he was familiar with the society-girl type, who achieve the same end with more subtle and alluring means. but could there be a type who hold little dago babies in their laps, and call them pretty irish names, and feed them custard out of a spoon? hal had never heard of that kind, and he thought that “red mary” made a charming picture—a celtic madonna with a sicilian infant in her arms.

he noticed that she was wearing the same faded blue calico-dress with a patch on the shoulder. man though he was, he realised that dress is an important consideration in the lives of women. he was tempted to suspect that this blue calico might be the only dress that mary owned; but seeing it newly laundered every time, he concluded that she must have at least one other. at any rate, here she was, crisp and fresh-looking; and with the new shining costume, she had put on the long promised “company manner”: high spirits and badinage, precisely like any belle of the world of luxury, who powders and bedecks herself for a ball. she had been grim and complaining in former meetings with this interesting young man; she had frightened him away, apparently; perhaps she could win him back by womanliness and good humour.

she rallied him upon his battered scalp and his creaking back, telling him he looked ten years older—which he was fully prepared to believe. also she had fun with him for working under a slovak—another loss of caste, it appeared! this was a joke the minettis could share in—especially little jerry, who liked jokes. he told mary how joe smith had had to pay fifteen dollars for his new job, besides several drinks at o'callahan's. also he told how mike sikoria had called joe his “green mule.” little jerry complained about the turn of events, for in the old days joe had taught him a lot of fine new games—and now he was sore, and would not play them. also, in the old days he had sung a lot of jolly songs, full of the most fascinating rhymes. there was a song about a “monkey puzzle tree”! had mary ever seen that kind of tree? little jerry never got tired of trying to imagine what it might look like.

the dago urchin stood and watched gravely while mary fed the custard to the baby; and when two or three spoonfuls were held out to him, he opened his mouth wide, and afterwards licked his lips. gee, that was good stuff!

when the last taste was gone, he stood gazing at mary's shining coronet. “say,” said he, “was your hair always like that?”

hal and mary burst into laughter, while rosa cried “hush!” she was never sure what this youngster would say next.

“sure, did ye think i painted it?” asked mary.

“i didn't know,” said little jerry. “it looks so nice and new.” and he turned to hal. “ain't it?”

“you bet,” said hal, and added, “go on and tell her about it. girls like compliments.”

“compliments?” echoed little jerry. “what's that?”

“why,” said hal, “that's when you say that her hair is like the sunrise, and her eyes are like twilight, or that she's a wild rose on a mountain-side.”

“oh,” said the dago urchin, somewhat doubtfully. “anyhow,” he added, “she make nice custard!”