sh burst of sorrow, "oh, only think,
father, of sich a woman bein' forced to this!"

"May the Lord pity her an' them, this woeful day!" exclaimed Sullivan.

"Now, father," proceeded Mave; "I know--oh who knows better or so
well--what a good an' a kind an' a forgivin' heart you have; an' I know
that even in spite of the feelin' that was, and maybe is, upon your mind
against them, you'll grant me my wish in what I'm goin' to ask."

"What is it then?--let me hear it."

"It's this: you know that here, in our family I can do nothing to help
ourselves--that is, there is nothing for me to do--an' I feel the time
hang heavy on my hands. I have been thinkin', father dear, of this
miserable state the poor Daltons is in, without any one to attend them
in their sickness--to say a kind word to them, or to hand them even a
drink of clean water, if they wanted it. Them that hasn't got the fever
yet, won't go near them for fear of catchin' it. What, then, will become
of them? There they are, without the face, or hand, or voice of kindness
about them. Oh, what on God's blessed earth will become of them? They
may die an' they must die, for want of care and assistance."

"But sure that's not our fault, dear Mave; we can't help them."

"We can, father--an' we must; for if we don't they'll die. Father," she
added, laying her wasted hand in his; "it is my intention to go over to
them--an' as I have nothing that I can do at home, to spend the greater
part of the day with them in takin' care of them--an'--an' in doin' what
I can for them, Yes, father dear--it is my intention--for there is none
but me to do it for them."

"Saviour of earth, Mave dear, is it mad you are? You, _achora machree_,
that's! dearer to us all than the apple of our eye, or the very pulse of
our hearts--to let you into a plague-house--to let you near the deadly
faver that's upon them--where you'd be sure to catch it; an' then--oh,
blessed Father. Mave what's come over you, to think of sich a
thing?--ay, or to think that we'd let you expose yourself? But it's all
the goodness and kindness of your affectionate heart; put it out of your
head, however--don't name it, or let us hear of it again."

"But, father, it's a duty that our religion teaches us."

"Why--what's come over you, Mave?--all at wanst too--you that was so
much afeard of it that you wouldn't go on a windy side of a feverish
house, nor walk near any one that was even recoverin' from it. Why,
what's come