gh the figure
was a little bent and the hair thinner, and the remainder of it
snow-white, the same sturdy spirit was in the old man.

"They're like boy and girl together, that's what they are," said
Flaherty with a tone of regret in his voice. "He seems as much of a
child as she is when he's with her," he added.

"Every good man has somethin' of the child left in him, me son.
O'Connell was goin' in the way of darkness until a woman's hand guided
him and gave him that little baby to hold on to his heart strings."

"Sure Peg's the light o' his life, that's what she is," grumbled
Flaherty. "It's small chance we ever have of broken heads an' soldiers
firin' on us, an' all, through O'Connell, since that child's laid hands
on him." Flaherty sighed. "Them was grand days and all," he said.

"They were wicked days, Flaherty," said the priest severely; "and it's
surprised I am that a God-fearin' man like yerself should wish them
back."

"There are times when I do, Father, the Lord forgive me. A fight lets
the bad blood out of ye. Sure it was a pike or a gun O'Connell 'ud
shouldher in the ould days, and no one to say him nay, and we all
following him like the Colonel of a regiment--an' proud to do it, too.
But now it's only the soft words we get from him."

"A child's hand shall guide," said the priest. Then he added:

"It has guided him. Whenever ye get them wicked thoughts about
shouldherin' a gun and flashin' a pike, come round to confession,
Flaherty, and it's the good penance I'll give ye to dhrive the devil's
temptation away from ye."

"I will that, Father Cahill," said Flaherty, hurriedly, and the men
went their different ways.

O'Connell did everything for Peg since she was an infant. His were the
only hands to tend the little body, to wash her and dress her, and tie
up her little shoe-laces, and sit beside her in her childish
sicknesses. He taught her to read and to write and to pray. As she grew
bigger he taught her the little he knew of music and the great deal he
knew of poetry. He instilled a love of verse into her little mind. He
never tired of reading her Tom Moore and teaching her his melodies. He
would make her learn them and she would stand up solemnly and recite or
sing them, her quaint little brogue giving them an added music.
O'Connell and Peg were inseparable.

One wonderful year came to Peg when she was about fourteen.

O'Connell had become recognised as a masterly exponent of the
particular fo