t care much for it," said Alf. We lost the thread of it until
the old woman spoke again.

"Have you had your tea, Mr. O'Breer?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor."

"Are you quite sure, man?"

"Quite sure, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor." (Mitchell trod on my foot.)

"Will you have a drop of whisky or a glass of beer, Mr. O'Breer?"

"I'll take a glass of beer, thank you, Mrs. O'Connor."

There seemed to be a long pause. Then the old woman said, "Ah, well, I
must get my work done, and Mary will stop here and keep you company, Mr.
O'Breer." The arrangement seemed satisfactory to all parties, for there
was nothing more said for a while. (Mitchell nudged me again, with
emphasis, and I kicked his shin.)

Presently Alf said: "Mary!" And a girl's voice said, "Yes, Alf."

"You remember the night I went away, Mary?"

"Yes, Alf, I do."

"I have travelled long ways since then, Mary; I worked hard and lived
close. I didn't make my fortune, but I managed to rub a note or two
together. It was a hard time and a lonesome time for me, Mary. The
summer's awful over there, and livin's bad and dear. You couldn't have
any idea of it, Mary."

"No, Alf."

"I didn't come back so well off as I expected."

"But that doesn't matter, Alf."

"I got heart-sick and tired of it, and couldn't stand it any longer,
Mary."

"But that's all over now, Alf; you mustn't think of it."

"Your mother wrote to me."

"I know she did"--(very low and gently).

"And do you know what she put in it, Mary?"

"Yes, Alf."

"And did you ask her to put it in?"

"Don't ask me, Alf."

"And it's all true, Mary?"

There was no answer, but the silence seemed satisfactory.

"And be sure you have yourself down here on Sunday, Alf, me son."
("There's the old woman come back!" said Mitchell.)

"An' since the girl's willin' to have ye, and the ould woman's
willin'--there's me hand on it, Alf, me boy. An' God bless ye both."
("The old man's come now," said Mitchell.)

. . . . .

"Come along," said Mitchell, leading the way to the front of the tent.

"But I wouldn't like to intrude on them. It's hardly right, Mitchell, is
it?"

"That's all right," said Mitchell. He tapped the tent pole.

"Come in," said Alf. Alf was lying on his bunk as before, with his arms
under his head. His face wore a cheerful, not to say happy, expression.
There was no one else in the tent. I was never more surprised in my
life.

"Have you got the paper, Alf?" said