re of the O'Mahonys for Dublin and London.
"I guess you two have got something to say to each other, so I'll
leave you to yourselves," said the father.

"I guess we have," said Rachel, "so if you'll wait here we'll come
to you when the cars are fixed." So saying, Rachel put her hand on
her lover's arm and walked off with him along the platform. Rachel
O'Mahony had not been badly described when her father said of her
that she looked as though she might be blown away. She was very fair,
and small and frail to look at. Her father had also said of her that
her health was remarkably good,--"the best confirmed that he had ever
known in his life." But though this too, was true, she hardly looked
it. No one could have pointed out any sign of malady about her; only
one would have said that there was nothing of her. And the colour on
her face was so evanescent that he who watched her was inclined to
think that she herself was like her colour. And she moved as though
she was always on the vanishing point. "I'm very fond of eating," she
had been heard to say. "I know it's vulgar; but it's true." No doubt
she was fond of eating, but so is a sparrow. There was nothing she
would not attempt to do in the way of taking exercise. She would
undertake very long walks, and would then fail, and declare that
she must be carried home; but she would finally get through the
day's work better than another woman who appeared to have double her
strength. Her feet and hands were the tiniest little adjuncts to a
grown human body that could be seen anywhere. They looked at least to
be so. But they were in perfect symmetry with her legs and arms. "I
wish I were bigger," she had once been heard to say, "because I could
hit a man." The man to whom she alluded was Mr. Mahomet M. Moss.
"I sometimes want to hit a woman, but that would be such a small
triumph." And yet she had a pride in her little female fineries.
"Now, Frank," she had once said, "I guess you won't get another woman
in all Galway to put her foot into that boot; nor yet in New York
either."

"I don't think I could," said the enraptured Frank.

"You'd better take it to New York and try, and if you find the lady
you can bring her back with you."

Frank refused the commission, saying something of course very pretty
as to his mistress's foot. "Ten buttons! These only have eight," she
said, objecting to a present which her lover had just brought her.
"If I had ten buttons, and the gloves to