A sudden vague terror seized her; she left McTeague and ran down the hall and caught her mother around the neck.
"I don't WANT you to go," she whispered in her mother's ear, sobbing.
"Oh, mamma, I--I'm 'fraid." "Ach, Trina, you preak my heart.

Don't gry, poor leetle girl." She rocked Trina in her arms as though she were a child again.

"Poor leetle scairt girl, don' gry--soh--soh--soh, dere's nuttun to pe 'fraid oaf.
Dere, go to your hoasban'.

Listen, popper's galling again; go den; goot-by." She loosened Trina's arms and started down the stairs.

Trina leaned over the banisters, straining her eyes after her mother.
"What is ut, Trina ?" "Oh, good-by, good-by." "Gome, gome, we miss der drain." "Mamma, oh, mamma!" "What is ut, Trina ?" "Good-by." "Goot-py, leetle daughter." "Good-by, good-by, good-by." The street door closed.