Into her own cell of that beehive,
however, she took poor, sad, desolate Nora. Into the
hallway she bade the loafing neighbor boys bring Nora's
trunk; in a language Nora could hardly understand she
explained to her that all would be well as soon as the
policeman passed by. She sent Mary Murphy, who happened
to be at home from school, for a pint of milk, and so
compelled Nora to drink a cup of tea and to eat a biscuit
and a dropped egg, while they waited for the policeman.
Of course he knew of seven John McLaughlins. He even
went to the drug-store and looked in the Boston Directory
to find that there were there the names of sixty-one
more. But not one of them lived in Linwood Street, as
they all knew already. All the same Nora was charged not
to cry, to drink more tea and eat more bread and butter.
The "cop" said he would look in on three of the Johns
whom he knew, and intelligent boys now returning from
school were sent to the homes of the other four to
interrogate them as to any expected sister. Within an
hour, now nearly one o'clock, answers were received
from all the seven. No one of them expected chick or
child from Fermoy.
But the "cop" had a suggestion to make. His pocket
list of names of streets revealed another Linwood
Street--in Roxbury; not this one in Dorchester. Be it
known to unlearned readers, who in snug shelter in
Montana follow along this little tale, that Roxbury and
Dorchester are both parts of that large municipality
called Boston.
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