wn
sister's shild?" agreed Patrick Quin cheerfully. "We 've been young
ourselves, too. Well, then, 'tis bad news of old Mary Donahoe bein'
gone at the farm. I always thought if I 'd go home how I 'd go along
the fields to get the great welcome from her. She was one that always
liked to hear folks had done well," and he looked down at his
comfortable, clean old clothes as if they but reminded him how poor a
young fellow he had come away. "I 'm very sorry afther Mary; she was a
good 'oman, God save her!"

"Faix, it was time for her," insisted Mike, not without sympathy.
"Were you afther wanting her to live forever, the poor soul? An' the
shild said she 'd the best funeral was ever in the parish of Dunkenny
since she remimbered it. What could anny one ask more than that, and
she r'aching such an age, the cr'atur'! Stop here awhile an' you 'll
hear all the tark from Nora; she told over to me all the folks that was
there. Where has she gone wit' herself, I don't know? Mary Ann!" he
turned his head toward the house and called in a loud, complaining
tone; "where's Nora, annyway?"

"Here's Nora, then," a sweet girlish voice made unexpected reply, and a
light young figure flitted from the sidewalk behind him and stood lower
down on the green bank.

"What's wanting wit' Nora?" and she stooped quickly like a child to
pick some of the dandelions as if she had found gold. She had a sprig
of wild-cherry blossom in her dress, which she must have found a good
way out in the country.

"Come now, and speak to Patrick Quin, your mother's own brother, that's
waiting here for you all this time you 've been running over the
place," commanded Mr. Duffy, with some severity.

"An' is it me own Uncle Patsy, dear?" exclaimed Nora, with the sweetest
brogue and most affectionate sincerity. "Oh, that me mother could see
him too!" and she dropped on her knees beside the lame little man and
kissed him, and knelt there looking at him with delight, holding his
willing hand in both her own.

"An' ain't you got me mother's own looks, too? Oh, Uncle Patsy, is it
yourself, dear? I often heard about you, and I brought you me mother's
heart's love, 'deed I did then! It's many a lovely present of a pound
you 've sent us. An' I 've got a thorn stick that grew in the hedge,
goin' up the little rise of ground above the Wishin' Brook, sir; mother
said you 'd mind the place well when I told you."

"I do then, me shild," said Patrick Quin, w