d Billy Baxter as he walked in with his
hands in his pockets.

"Thank ye, Billy, haave a good bowl of broth?"

"Thank ye, thank ye," he said. "I don't mind a good bowl ov broth, Anna,
but I'd prefer a bowl--jist a bowl of good broth!"

"Ye've had larks for breakvist surely, haaven't ye, Billy?" Anna said.

"No, I didn't, but there's a famine of good broth these days. When I was
young we had the rale McKie!" Billy took a bowl, nevertheless, and went
to Jamie's bench to "sup" it.

Eliza Wallace, the fish woman, came in.

"Much good may it do ye," she said.

"Thank ye kindly, 'Liza, sit down an' haave a bowl of broth!" It was
baled out and Eliza sat down on the floor near the window.

McGrath, the rag man, "dhrapped in." "Much good may it do ye!" he said.

"Thank ye kindly, Tom," Anna said, "ye'll surely have a bowl ov broth."

"Jist wan spoonful," McGrath said. I emptied my bowl at a nod from Anna,
rinsed it out at the tub and filled it with broth. McGrath sat on the
doorstep.

After the dinner Anna read a story from the _Weekly Budget_ and the
family and guests sat around and listened. Then came the weekly
function, over which there invariably arose an altercation amongst the
children. It was the Sunday visit of the Methodist tract
distributor--Miss Clarke. It was not an unmixed dread, for sometimes she
brought a good story and the family enjoyed it. The usual row took place
as to who should go to the door and return the tract. It was finally
decided that I should face the ordeal. My preparation was to wash my
feet, rake my hair into order and soap it down, cover up a few holes and
await the gentle knock on the doorpost. It came and I bounded to the
door, tract in hand.

"Good afternoon," she began, "did your mother read the tract this week?"

"Yis, mem, an' she says it's fine."

"Do you remember the name of it?"

"'Get yer own Cherries,'" said I.

"_B-u-y_," came the correction in clear tones from behind the partition.

"'_Buy_ yer own Cherries,' it is, mem."

"That's better," the lady said. "Some people _get_ cherries, other people
_buy_ them."

"Aye."

I never bought any. I knew every wild-cherry tree within twenty miles of
Antrim. The lady saw an opening and went in. "Did you ever get caught?"
she asked. I hung my head. Then followed a brief lecture on private
property--brief, for it was cut short by Anna, who, without any apology
or introduction, said as she confronted the slum evangel:

"