lks at all, 'tis but a pack of images they do be, with all their
chatter like birds in a hedge."

"Sure then, the holy Saint Francis himself was after saying that the
little birds was his sisters," answered Mrs. Kilpatrick, a godly old
woman who made the stations every morning, and was often seen reading
a much-handled book of devotion. She was moreover always ready with a
friendly joke.

"They ain't the same at all was in them innocent times, when there was
plenty saints living in the world," insisted Mary Cassidy. "Look at
them thrash, now!"

The old sweeping-women were going downstairs with their brooms. It was
almost twelve o'clock, and like the old dray-horses in the mill yard
they slackened work in good season for the noonday bell. Three gay
young French girls ran downstairs past them; they were let out for the
afternoon and were hurrying home to dress and catch the 12:40 train to
the next large town.

"That little one is Meshell's daughter; she's a nice child too, very
quiet, and has got more Christian tark than most," said Mrs.
Kilpatrick. "They live overhead o' me. There's nine o' themselves in
the two rooms; two does be boarders."

"Those upper rooms bees very large entirely at Fitzgibbon's," said
Mary Cassidy with unusual indulgence.

"'Tis all the company cares about is to get a good rent out of the
pay. They're asked every little while by honest folks 'on't they build
a trifle o' small houses beyond the church up there, but no, they'd
rather the money and kape us like bees in them old hives. Sure in
winter we're better for having the more fires, but summer is the
pinance!"

"They all says 'why don't folks build their own houses'; they does
always be talking about Mike Callahan and how well he saved up and
owns a pritty place for himself convanient to his work. You might tell
them he'd money left him by a brother in California till you'd be
black in the face, they'd stick to it 'twas in the picker he earnt it
from themselves," grumbled Mary Cassidy.

"Them French spinds all their money on their backs, don't they?"
suggested Mrs. Kilpatrick, as if to divert the conversation from
dangerous channels. "Look at them three girls now, off to Spincer with
their fortnight's pay in their pocket!"

"A couple o' onions and a bag o' crackers is all they want and a pinch
o' lard to their butter," pronounced Mary Cassidy with scorn. "The
whole town of 'em 'on't be the worse of a dollar for steak the week
round