herself that poor
Bessy had her husband and childer to consowl her, any way, but little
Theresa, the crathur, had ne'er such a thing at all, and wouldn't have,
not she, God love her. "And the back of me hand to some I could name."
It seemed to her that to leave the child the cloak would be almost like
keeping a warm wing spread over her in the cold wide world; and there
was no fear that Bessy would take it amiss.

But Theresa herself protested strongly against such a disposition,
urging for one thing that sure she'd be lost in it entirely if ever she
put it on; a not unfounded objection, as Theresa was several sizes
smaller than Bessy, and even she fell far short of her mother in stature
and portliness. Theresa also said confidently with a sinking heart, "But
sure, anyhow, mother jewel, what matter about it? 'Twill be all gone to
houles and flitters and thraneens, and so it will, plase goodness, afore
there's any talk of anybody else wearin' it except your own ould self."
And she expressed much the same conviction one day to her next-door
neighbor, old Biddy Ryan, to whom she had run in for the loan of a sup
of sour milk, which Mrs. Joyce fancied. To Biddy's sincere regret she
could offer Theresa barely a skimpy noggin of milk, and only a meagre
shred of encouragement; and by way of eking out the latter with its
sorry substitute, consolation, she said as she tilted the jug
perpendicularly to extract its last drop:--

"Well, sure, me dear, I do be sayin' me prayers for her every sun goes
over our heads that she might be left wid you this great while yet;
'deed, I do so. But ah, acushla, if we could be keepin' people
that-a-way, would there be e'er a funeral iver goin' black on the road
at all at all? I'm thinkin' there's scarce a one livin', and he as ould
and foolish and little-good-for as you plase, but some crathur'ill be
grudgin' him to his grave, that's himself may be all the while wishin'
he was in it. Or, morebetoken, how can we tell what quare ugly
misfortin' thim that's took is took out of the road of, that we should
be as good as biddin' thim stay till it comes to ruinate them? So it's
prayin' away I am, honey," said old Biddy, whom Theresa could not help
hating heart-sickly. "But like enough the Lord might know better than to
be mindin' a word I say."

And it seemed that He did; anyway, the day soon came when the heavy blue
cloak passed into Mrs. Kilfoyle's possession.

At that time it was clear, still au