ord wid you
before Jim gets home--Och, Aileen, dearie, me home I'm so proud of--"
She choked, and Billy immediately repudiated his gumdrop upon Aileen's
clean linen skirt; his eyes were reading the signs of the times in his
mother's face.

"Now, Maggie, dear, tell me all about it. Begin at the beginning, and
then I'll know where you're at."

Maggie smiled faintly. "Sure, I wouldn't blame you for not knowin' where
I'm at." Mrs. McCann sniffed several times prefatorily.

"You know I told you Jim had a temper, Aileen--"

Aileen nodded in assent; she was busy coaxing the rejected ball into
Billy's puckered mouth.

"--And that there's times whin he querrels wid the men--"

"Yes."

"Well, you know Mr. Googe bein' in the same shed an' section wid Jim, I
says innercent-like to Jim:--'I'm glad he's in your section, Jim, belike
you can make it a bit aisier for him.'

"'Aisy is it?' says Jim.

"'Yes, aisy,' says I.

"'An' wot wud I be after makin' a job aisier for the likes of him?' he
says, grouchy-like.

"'An' why not?' says I.

"'For a jail-bird?' says he.

"'Deed,' says I, 'if yer own b'y had been breakin' stones wid a gang of
toughs for sivin long years gone, wouldn't ye be after likin' a man to
spake wan daycint word wid him?' says I.

"Wid that Jim turned on quick-like an' says:--

"'I'll thank ye, Mrs. McCann, to kape yer advice to yerself. It's not
Jim McCann's b'y that'll be doin' the dirthy job that yer Mr. Champney
Googe was after doin' six years gone, nor be after takin' the bread an'
butter out of an honest man's mout' that has a wife an' three childer to
feed. He's a convic',' says Jim.

"'What if he is?' says I.

"'I don't hold wid no convic's,' says Jim; 'I hold wid honest men; an'
if it's convic's be comin' to take the best piece-work out of our hands,
it's time we struck--to a man,' says Jim.

"Niver, niver but wanct has Jim called me 'Mrs. McCann,'" Maggie said
brokenly, but stifled a sob for Billy's sake; "an' niver wanct has he
gone to work widout kissin' me an' the childer, sometimes twice
round--but he went out yisterday an' niver turned for wan look at wife
an' childer; an' me heart was that heavy in my bosom that me b'y refused
the breast an' cried like to kill himself for wan mortal hour, an' the
little gells cried too, an' me bread burnin' to a crisp, an' I couldn't
do wan thing but just sit down wid me hands full of cryin' childer--an'
me heart cryin' like a child wid 'em."