r out where ye broke whin we first met
ye, Willie!"

"Aye," Willie said, "I'm m' own gaffer, I will that."

I slept at Jamie Wallace's that night, and next morning took the
"dandther" with Withero up the Dublin road, past "The Mount of
Temptation" to the old stone-pile that was no longer a pile, but a hole
in the side of the road. It was a sentimental journey that gave Willie a
chance to say some things I knew he wanted to say.

"D'ye mind the pirta sack throusers Anna made ye onct?"

"Yes, what of them?"

"Did ye iver think ye cud git used t' aanything if ye wor forced t'
haave nothin' else fur a while?"

"What's the point, Willie?"

"Sit down here awhile an' I'll tell ye."

We sat down on the bank of the roadside. He took out his pipe, steel and
flint, filled his pipe and talked as he filled.

"Me an' Jamie wor pirta sack people, purty damned rough, too, but yer Ma
was a piece ov fine linen frum th' day she walked down this road wi' yer
Dah till this minit whin she's waitin' fur ye in the corner. Ivery
Sunday I've gone in jist t' hai a crack wi' 'er an' d' ye know, bhoy, I
got out o' that crack somethin' good fur th' week. She was i' hell on
sayin' words purcisely, but me an' Jamie wor too thick, an' begorra she
got used t' pirta sack words herself, but she was i' fine linen jist th'
same.

"Wan day she says t' me, 'Willie,' says she, 'ye see people through
dirty specs.' 'How's that?' says I. 'I don't know,' says she, 'fur I
don't wear yer specs, but I think it's jist a poor habit ov yer mind.
Aych poor craither is made up ov some good an' much that isn't s' good,
an' ye see only what isn't s' good!'

"Thin she towld m' somethin' which she niver towld aanyone else, 'cept
yer Dah, ov coorse. 'Willie,' says she, 'fur twenty years I've seen th'
Son ov Maan ivery day ov m' life!'

"'How's that?' says I.

"'I've more'n seen 'm. I've made tay fur 'im, an' broth on Sunday. I've
mended 'is oul duds, washed 'is dhirty clothes, shuk 'is han', stroked
'is hair an' said kind words to 'im!'

"'God Almighty!' says I, 'yer goin' mad, Anna!' She tuk her oul Bible
an' read t' me these words; I mind thim well:

"'Whin ye do it t' wan o' these craithers ye do it t' me!'

"Well, me bhoy, I thunk an' I thunk over thim words an' wud ye believe
it--I begun t' clane m' specs. Wan day th' 'Dummy' came along t' m'
stone-pile. Ye mind 'er, don't ye?" (The Dummy was a harlot, who lived
in the woods up the Dublin road in summ