, heavens, don't," he said; "shure they don't 'kep' pirtas in
America!"

"I'm not in America now," I answered, as I circled as much of the
little bare table as I could with my arms to keep the potatoes from
rolling off. He dumped them in a heap in the centre; they rolled up
against my arms and breast and I pushed them back. Mary cleared a
space for a small pile of salt and the buttermilk bowls.

"We'll haave a blessin' by a rale ministher th' night," Mary said.

"Oh, yis, that's thrue enough," my father said, "but Alec minds th'
time whin it was blessin' enough to hev th' murphies--don't ye, boy?"

After "tay" I tacked a newspaper over the lower part of the window--my
father lit the candle and Mary put a few turfs on the fire and we sat
as we used to sit so many years ago. My father was so deaf that I had
to shout to make him hear and nearly everything I said could be heard
by the neighbours in the alley, many of whom sat around the door to
hear whatever they could of the story they supposed I would tell of
the magic land beyond the sea.

I unbarred the door in answer to a loud knock; it was a most polite
note from a Roman Catholic schoolmaster inviting me to occupy a spare
room in his house. Half an hour later we were again interrupted by
another visitor, an old friend who also invited me to occupy his spare
bed. It was evidently disturbing the town to know where I was to
sleep. I politely refused all invitations. Each invitation was
explained to my father.

"Shure that's what's cracking m' own skull," he said; "where th' divil
will ye sleep, anyway, at all, at all?"

Then they listened and I talked--talked of what the years had meant to
me.

The old man sighed often and occasionally there were tears in Mary's
eyes; and there were times when the past surged through my mind with
such vividness that I could only look vacantly into the white flame of
the peat fire. Once after a long silence my father spoke--his voice
trembled, "Oh," he said, "if she cud just have weathered through till
this day!"

"Aye," Mary said, "but how do ye know she isn't jist around here
somewhere, anyway?"

"Aye," the old man said as he nodded his head, "deed that's thrue for
you, Mary, she may!" He took his black cutty pipe out of his mouth and
gazed at me for a moment.

"What d'ye mind best about her?"

"I mind a saying she had that has gone through life with me."

"'Ivery day makes its own throuble?'"

"No, not that; somethin