to be so nice to him, speaking short to him
sometimes, and even harsh and angry; but no, that would be too cruel,
especially from me, after all these years, just when he was going so far
away, too, and only the Lord and the blessed saints knew what was to
become of him.

It was Martin, Martin, always Martin. Still in her sweet motherly
selfishness she could think of nobody else. Fondly as she loved me, it
never occurred to her for a moment that if I did what she wished and
sent Martin away from me, I too would suffer. But a harder heart than
mine would have melted at the sight of her perplexity and distress, and
when with a helpless look she said:

"I don't know what you are to do--I really, really don't," I comforted
her (needing comfort so much myself), and told her I would find a way of
my own to do what she desired.

"Will you, though?" she said.

"Indeed I will."

"And you won't send him away sore-hearted, either?"

"Indeed I won't."

"I knew you would say that. May the Lord and His holy Mother bless you!"

She was weeping tender, copious, blessed tears by this time, but there
were smiles behind them.

"Not that there's another woman in the world I would rather give him to
if things were as they used to be. But they're different now, are they
not?" she asked.

"Yes, they're different now," I answered.

"But are you sure you're not cross with me for coming?"

"Oh, no, no," I said, and it was all I _could_ say for my voice was
failing me.

She gave a sigh of inexpressible relief and then rose to go.

"I must be going now. The doctor is digging in the garden and he hasn't
had his breakfast. But I put the pot on the _slouree_ to boil and it
will be ready for the porridge."

She got as far as the door and then turned and said:

"I wish I had a photo of you--a right one, just as you are at this very
minute. I'd hang it in your own room, and times and times in the day I'd
be running upstairs to look at it. But it's all as one. I've got a photo
of you here," (touching her breast) "and sometimes I can see it as plain
as plain."

I could not speak after that, but I kissed her as she was going out, and
she said:

"That's nice, now! Good-bye, _my chree!_ You'll not be going home until
to-morrow, it's like, so perhaps I'll be putting another sight on you.
Good-bye!"

I went to the window to watch her as she walked down the drive. She was
wiping her eyes, but her head was up and I thought her step was l