e when he died."

"WERE ye?"

"He told me all about you."

"Did he? Well, I wish the poor man 'ud ha' lived. An' I wish he'd a'
thought o' us sooner. He with all his money an' me father with none,
an' me his sister's only child."

"What does your father do?" Peg took a deep breath and answered
eagerly. She was on the one subject about which she could talk
freely--all she needed was a good listener. This strange man, unlike
her aunt, seemed to be the very person to talk to on the one really
vital subject to Peg. She said breathlessly:

"Sure me father can do anythin' at all--except make money. An' when he
does MAKE it he can't kape it. He doesn't like it enough. Nayther do I.
We've never had very much to like, but we've seen others around us with
plent an' faith we've been the happiest--that we have."

She only stopped to take breath before on she went again:

"There have been times when we've been most starvin', but me father
never lost his pluck or his spirits. Nayther did I. When times have
been the hardest I've never heard a word of complaint from me father,
nor seen a frown on his face. An' he's never used a harsh word to me in
me life. Sure we're more like boy and girl together than father and
daughther." Her eyes began to fill and her voice to break.

"An' I'm sick for the sight of him. An' I'm sure he is for me--for his
'Peg o' my Heart,' as he always calls me."

She covered her eyes as the tears trickled down through her fingers.
Under her breath Jerry heard her saying:

"I wish I was back home--so I do."

He was all compassion in a moment. Something in the loneliness and
staunchness of the little girl appealed to him.

"Don't do that," he said softly, as he felt the moisture start into his
own eyes.

Peg unpinned her little handkerchief and carefully wiped away her tears
and just as carefully folded the handkerchief up again and pinned it
back by her side.

"I don't cry often," she said. "Me father never made me do it. I never
saw HIM cry but twice in his life--once when he made a little money and
we had a Mass said for me mother's soul, an' we had the most beautiful
candles on Our Lady's altar. He cried then, he did. And when I left him
to come here on the ship. And then only at the last minnit. He laughed
and joked with me all the time we were together--but when the ship
swung away from the dock he just broke down and cried like a little
child. 'My Peg!' he kep' sayin'; 'My little Peg!' I te