n that a letter from Mick was nearly due, and with
assurances, which we scarcely felt, that Mick was bound to do well in
America and prove a credit to her; and we finally got rid of her, and
were rejoiced to see her going off, with her turned-up skirt full as
usual of heterogeneous offerings.

Well, a few days after this, some one brought us the surprising story
that Mick had returned or was on the way to return. One of the carters
had given him a lift on the first stage of his journey from Dublin,
and had left him by his own request at one of the houses where he had
had such a sorrowful parting a little while before. The man had told
Mick of his mother's grief, a bit of intelligence which somewhat
dashed the radiant spirits with which he was returning home. However,
he cheered up immediately: 'Tell th' ould woman,' he said, 'that I
wasn't such a villain as to leave her at all, at all, an' that I'll be
home by evenin'. She'll be havin' a bit o' bacon in the pot to welcome
me.' The man told us this with a dry grin, and added, ''Tis meself
wouldn't like to be afther bringin' the poor ould woman the good news.
It might be too much joy for the crathur to bear.' This ironic speech
revived all our doubts of Mrs. Sheehy.

Mick took our house on the way across the fields to his mother's
cottage. We received him cordially, though with less _empressement_
than when we had parted from him, for now we were pretty sure of
seeing Mick often during the years of our natural lives. We too told
him of his mother's excessive grief, as much, perhaps, with a selfish
design of hastening him on his way as anything else, for we had our
misgivings about Mick's reception.

There were plenty of people to tell us of the prodigal's welcome. The
village had buzzed all day with the dramatic sensation of Mick's
return, but no one had told Mrs. Sheehy--though every one was on
tiptoe for the hour of Mick's arrival. He came about six in the
evening, and having passed through the village was escorted by a band
of the curious towards his mother's cottage.

Mrs. Sheehy lives in a by-road. On one side are the woods, on the
other the fields, and at this hour of the May evening the woods were
full of golden aisles of glory. Now Mrs. Sheehy had come out of her
house to give a bit to the pig, when she saw a group of people
advancing towards her down the sunshine and shadow of the road. She
shaded her eyes and looked that way. For a minute or two she could no