fondling some of them and putting them as I found
them.

"I'll jist take a cup o' tay," Jamie said, "I'm not feelin' fine."

I had less appetite than he had, and Mary had less than either of us. So
we sipped our tea for awhile in silence.

"She didn't stay long afther ye left," Jamie said, without looking up.
Turning to Mary he continued, "How long was it, aanyway, Mary?"

"Jist a wee while."

"Aye, I know it wasn't long."

"Did she suffer much?" I asked.

"She didn't suffer aany at all," he said, "she jist withered like th'
laves on th' threes."

"She jist hankered t' go," Mary added.

"Wan night whin Mary was asleep," Jamie continued, "she read over again
yer letther--th' wan where ye wor spakin' so much about fishin'."

"Aye," I said, "I had just been appointed missionary to a place called
the Bowery, in New York, and I wrote her that I was no longer her
plowman, but her _fisher of men_."

"Och, maan, if ye cud haave heard her laugh over th' different kinds ov
fishes ye wor catchin'! Iv'ry day for weeks she read it an' laughed an'
cried over it. That night she says t' me, 'Jamie,' says she, 'I don't
care s' much fur fishers ov men as I do for th' plowman.' 'Why?' says I.

"'Because,' says she, 'a gey good voice an' nice clothes will catch men,
an' wimen too, but it takes brains t' plow up th' superstitions ov th'
ignorant.'

"'There's somethin' in that,' says I.

"'Tell 'im whin he comes,' says she, 'that I put th' handles ov a plow
in his han's an' he's t' let go ov thim only in death.'

"'I'll tell 'm,' says I, 'but it's yerself that'll be here whin he
comes,' says I. She smiled like an' says she, 'What ye don't know,
Jamie, wud make a pretty big library.' 'Aye,' says I, 'I haaven't aany
doubt ov that, Anna.'"

"There was a loud knock at the door."

"Let thim dundther," Mary said. He put his hand behind his ear and asked
eagerly:

"What is 't?"

"Somebody's dundtherin'."

"Let thim go t' h----," he said angrily.

"Th' tuk 'im frum Anna last time, th' won't take 'im frum me an' you,
Mary."

Another and louder knock.

"It's Misthress Healy," came a voice. Again his hand was behind his ear.
The name was repeated to him.

"Misthress Healy, is it; well, I don't care a d--n if it was Misthress
Toe-y!"

For a quarter of a century my sister has occupied my mother's
chimney-corner, but it was vacant that night. She sat on my father's
side of the fire. He and I sat opposite each other at th