ignity.

"Go ye in, Mart. I'll fetch her."

As the young wife sat in her carriage before this wretched little home
and watched that slatternly sister of her husband approach, she rose on
a wave of self-appreciation. Haney lost in dignity and power by this
association. For the first time in her life the girl acknowledged a
fixed difference between her blood and that of Mart Haney. She was
disgusted and ashamed as Mrs. McArdle, coming to the carriage side, said
bluffly: "'Tis a poor parlor I have, Mrs. Haney, but if ye'll light out
and come in I'll send for Pat. He'll be wantin' to see ye both."

Bertha would have given a good deal to avoid this visit, but seeing no
way to escape she stepped from the carriage under the keen scrutiny of
her hostess and walked up the rickety steps with something of the same
squeamish care she would have shown on entering a cow-barn.

"Here, Benny!" called Mrs. McArdle. "Run you to Dad and tell him me
brother Mart has come, and to hurry home. Off wid ye now!"

The poverty of this city working-man's home was plain to see. It struck
in upon Bertha with the greater power by reason of her six months of
luxury. It was not a dirty home, but it was cluttered and hap-hazard.
The old wooden chairs were worn with scouring, but littered with
children's rags of clothing. The smell of boiling cabbage was in the
air, for dinner-time was nigh. There were three rooms on the
ground-floor and one of these was living-room and dining-room, the other
the kitchen, and a small bedroom showed through an open door. For all
its disorder it gave out a familiar odor of homeliness which profoundly
moved Haney.

"Ye've grown like the mother, Fan. And I do believe some of these chairs
are her's."

"They are. When Dad broke up the house and went to live with Kate I put
in a bid for the stuff and I brought some of it out here with me."

"I'm glad ye did. That old rocker now--sure it's the very one we used to
fight for. I'll give ye twenty-five dollars for it, Fan."

"Ye can have it for the askin', Mart," she generously replied--tears of
pleasure in her eyes. "Sure, after all the tales I heard of ye--it's to
see you takin' fine to the mother's chair. She was a good mother to us,
Mart."

"She was!" he answered.

"And if the old Dad had been as much of a man as she was, we'd all stand
in better light to-day I'm thinkin'--though the father did the best he
knew."

"The worst he did was to let us all run wild. A cl