etoken! So I do. An' be ye a colleen 'at's handy with them sort o'
tools?"

"Indeed, I can sew!" cried Glory, triumphantly. "It's 'cause of that the
Elbowers call me 'Mend-a-Hole,' or 'Take-a-Stitch,' whichever happens.
Why--why--I earn money--real money--sewin' the Lane folks up!"

"An' yet bein' that mite of a thing ye are!" returned this new friend,
admiringly. "Well then, 'tis out to me sister's husband's cousin's house
I'm wishin' ye was this instant. For of all the folks needs the mendin'
an' patchin', 'tis she, with her seven own childer, an' her ten boardin'
'hands,' an' her own man, that was gardener to some great folks beyant,
laid up with the chills an' not able to do a hand's turn for himself,
barrin' eatin' an' drinkin' fair, when the victuals is ready. He can
play a good knife an' fork, still, thanks be, an' it's hopin' he'll soon
be playin' his shovel an' spade just as lively, but that's no more here
nor yet there. There's miles betwixt this an' yon, an'----Hello! Aye,
hello-a-oa!"

The sudden break in Timothy Dowd's chatter was caused by the hailing of
some fellow workmen who had rumbled up to them a hand-car over a near-by
track and had signaled him to join them.

"For it's not down track but up you're to go, Tim, the washouts bein'
worst beyond. Step aboard, we've to hustle."

Timothy picked up his tools and started to comply, when his glance fell
once more upon the eager face of Goober Glory and pity for her made him
hesitate. Then a bright idea flashed through his brain and he demanded
of the man who had accosted him, "How fur be ye goin'?"

"To the trestle beyond Simpson's. Hurry up. Step on."

For only answer, Timothy immediately swung Glory up to the little
platform car, depositing Bonny Angel beside her with equal speed, then
made room for himself among the surprised trackmen already grouped
there. Yet beyond another astonished "Hello!" no comment was made and
the hand-car bumped forward again toward its destination.

However, it wasn't Timothy Dowd's habit to be silent when he could find
anything to say, so he was presently explaining in his loud-voiced,
jolly way that here was a "pair o' angels that he'd found floating round
in the mud and was goin' to bestow 'em where they'd do the most good.
An' that's to Mary Fogarty's, indeed. Her of the sharp tongue an' warm
heart an' houseful of creatures, every blessed one of that same rippin'
off buttons that constant, an' her livin' the very pa