s more
keenly than any of us, her laughter was genuine and natural.

Jamie had his empty pipe in his mouth and by force of habit he picked up
in the tongs a little bit of live coal to light it. We all tittered.

"Th' h--l!" he muttered, as he made for the door. Before he reached it
my sister walked in. McGuckin wasn't at home. His wife couldn't pay. We
saw the whole story on her face, every pang of it. Her eyes were red and
swollen. Before she got out a sentence of the tale of woe, she noticed
the old man in Boyle's clothing and burst out laughing. So hearty and
boisterous was it that we all again caught the contagion and laughed
with her. Sorrow was deep-seated. It had its roots away down at the
bottom of things, but laughter was always up near the surface and could
be tapped on the slightest provocation. It was a by-valve--a way of
escape for the overflow. There were times when sorrow was too deep for
tears. But there never was a time when we couldn't laugh!

People in our town who expected visitors to knock provided a knocker.
The knocker was a distinct line of social demarcation. We lived below
the line. The minister and the tract distributor were the only persons
who ever knocked at our door.

Scarcely had our laughter died away when the door opened and there
entered in the sweep of a blizzard's tail Billy O'Hare. The gust of cold
winter wind made us shiver again and we drew up closer to the dying
fire--so small now as to be seen with difficulty.

"Be th' seven crosses ov Arbow, Jamie," he said, "I'm glad yer awake, me
bhoy, if ye hadn't I'd haave pulled ye out be th' tail ov yer shirt!"

"I was jist within an ace ov goin' over an' pullin' ye out be th' heels
myself."

The chimney-sweep stepped forward and, tapping Jamie on the forehead,
said:

"Two great minds workin' on th' same thought shud projuce wondtherful
results, Jamie; lend me a chew ov tobacco!"

"Ye've had larks for supper, Billy; yer jokin'!" Jamie said.

"Larks be damned," Billy said, "m' tongue's stickin' t' th' roof ov me
mouth!"

Again we laughed, while the two men stood looking at each
other--speechless.

"Ye can do switherin' as easy sittin' as standin'," Anna said, and Billy
sat down. The bogman's story was repeated in minutest detail. The sweep
scratched his sooty head and looked wise.

"It's gone!" Anna said quietly, and we all looked toward the fire. It
was dead. The last spark had been extinguished. We shivered.

"We don't