and a sorrowful story! So! Come now!" He wheeled Grandpa to
a place beside the morris chair, signed Cis to take the kitchen chair,
helped Johnnie to a perch on the table, and sat again, the others drawn
about his red head like so many moths around a cheerful lamp.

It was just as the tale of Edith Cavell ended that, most opportunely,
who should come stealing in but Mrs. Kukor, pushing the door open with a
slippered foot, for each hand held a dish. The exciting events which had
transpired in the Barber flat being common property up and down the area
building, naturally she knew them; also, leaned out of her own window,
she had heard more than enough. The paleness of her round face told how
anxious she was.

The priest stood up. "I'm Father Patrick Mungovan, at yer service,
ma'am," he said, bowing gravely.

Mrs. Kukor first wiped both plump hands upon a black sateen apron. Then
she extended one of them to the priest. "Glat to meet!" she declared
heartily. "Und glat you wass come!"

The Father shook hands warmly. "Shure, ma'am," he declared, "our two
young folks is likely not t' suffer for lookin' after from now on, I'm
thinkin', what with our little League o' Nations."

Tears welled into Mrs. Kukor's black eyes. "Over Chonnie und Cis," she
declared, "all times I wass full of love. _Only_"--she lifted a short,
fat finger--"nefer I haf talk my Hebrew religions mit!"

Father Pat gave her another bow, and a gallant one. "Faith, Mrs. Kukor,"
said he, "the good Lord I worship was a Hebrew lad from the hills o'
Judea."

Next, Mrs. Kukor had a look at the roses, whose fragrance she inhaled
with many excited exclamations of delight. After that, there was ice
cream and raisin cake, enough for all. Every one served, the priest and
Mrs. Kukor were soon chatting away in the friendliest fashion.

It was then that a regrettable accident occurred. In spite of the fact
that the ice cream was in a melting condition, and the cake deliciously
soft and crumbling, one of those several dental bridges of the Father's
suddenly became detached, as it were, from its moorings, and had to be
rolled up in one corner of a handkerchief and consigned to a pocket.
Amid general condolences then, the priest explained that the happening
was not wholly unexpected, since, in choosing a dentist, he had let his
heart, rather than his head, guide his selection, and had given the work
to an old and struggling man whose methods were undoubtedly obsolete.