imed Annie pityingly.

"Poor indade! But soon came the money for the rest; and much as we
feared the deep wathers, the hoonger still pressed on us, and the
sickness was every day striking down the stoutest, and so we all left
Ireland but Bessie."

"Did you like the passage across from Ireland?"

"No, indade."

"Were you sea-sick?"

"No, miss. But we came in the steerage; and a crowded, dirthy place it
was. The dirt was not so bad, for in the ould counthree it ofttimes
gets the betther o' us; but the men were either drunk or ill-nathured,
and the women quarrelled, and the young ones were aye cross or sick;
and a bad time they made of it all."

"Did you come directly here?"

"No; we stayed where we landed for seven weeks, till we got word to
our cousin."

"And since you have been here, Annorah, what have you been doing? Have
you been to school?"

"No; the praste forbade."

"Poor thing! Then you cannot read?"

"How should I know reading, I'd like to know? Who would teach me that
same?"

"Many good people would like to do it, if you would like to learn."

"I'm ower knowin' for that, miss," replied Annorah, with a glance
which betrayed that she was rather suspicious of Annie's good
intentions. "It's a mighty pity that readin' was contrived at all, for
it's the books that makes the black heretics o' us. 'Let alone the
books and the readin',' said Father M'Clane to me last evening, 'and
confess to me faithfully all that ye hear in the grand Protestant
family, an' all will go well wi' ye, Annorah,' says he, 'now and for
evermore.'"

Annie laughed pleasantly. "And so you are to play the spy and the
tattler; and however kindly we may treat you, you are to report all
our sayings and doings to the priest? I don't believe, Annorah, that
you can be mean enough for that, if you try. I thought the Irish
people were too generous to act so low a part."

"An' so we are, shure. Sorra a bit will the praste get from me about
you here."

"If he were a good man, a noble, honourable man," said Annie, "do you
think he would ask you--"

"He's the praste!" interrupted Annorah, her eyes flashing; "the
praste, is Father M'Clane. An' ye mind to spake well o' him, it's
nought I've to say; an' the tongue is a heretic's that would spake ill
o' him, and he laving the ould counthree to stay for our good in this
haythen land. An' the books an' the readin' were for the like o' us,
would he not be the first to bid us welcome to the s