ent between the vendor, a Sicilian, and a boy and was knifed by the
vendor. He was buried three days later after a convivial wake, the
success of which was in some measure a consolation for his widow.

His estate, besides his widow, consisted of a four-room, shot-gun
cottage, meagerly furnished, and three boys, Tim, Pat and Jerry.

Tim was fourteen, and after school sold papers at Fourth and Broadway.
The other two boys were of sufficient years of discretion to dodge a
motorcycle if the rider gave stentorian warning.

Mrs. O'Flannagan, a husky, rawboned dame, adopted the profession of a
washlady, and found many ladies who were anxious to procure her services
since the colored ladies had deserted their washtubs to work in the
Axton tobacco factory.

Tim always brought home the worn outside paper of his bundle, or else
one that some customer had glanced through and thrown away, for his
mother to read. She was deeply interested in the progress of the World
War.

After ten hours over the washtub, she would change her sud-soaked dress,
get the boys their supper, clean and dry the dishes, scrub the two
little chaps and put them to bed; then, after eight o'clock, sit down at
the window where the street light shone in and read about those
"devilish Huns," her moist, strong face, to which clung her brown hair,
stringy from sweat, working and changing expression with feelings of
sympathy and patriotism.

After she had read all about the war and the Red Cross, but nothing
else, she got out a ball of gray yarn and needles and knitted till
10:30. She had promised to knit two pairs of socks a week for the
Limerick Red Cross Unit. Then after her prayers, which were wholly
intercessory, for her boys and their daily bread and the motherless boys
in Flanders, her day's work was done. She went to the big bed by the
window and kissed her three boys, then to her cot in the corner and
slept the sound sleep of the faithful and the true.

She had not been to a picture show in three years; had never been in an
automobile, nor to the derby, nor the State Fair, but each Sunday
morning walked in to the Cathedral to early mass.

She was always at home, except when she made the trip to the grocery, or
to The Puritan to deliver the wash, or to the knitting unit to exchange
the pair of well-knitted socks (on the tops of which she always made a
narrow border of red, white and blue) for more yarn.

She gave the boys twenty cents each every Sat