Up in a tree, if ye plaze. Me
heart's scalded with that child. She'll break her neck on me before
she's done."

Maggie jerked her flaxen locks backwards with a slightly defiant air,
and inquired of her parent if she was comin' on out o' that. Mrs.
Kinsella in return curtly desired her to be off with herself, an' not
be standin' there givin' her impidence, an' Mrs. Brophy maybe killin'
herself wonderin' what could be in the letther at all.

Thus adjured, Maggie led the way up a steep and stony path, followed
by her mother, Mrs. Murphy, and sundry other of the neighbours, all
agog with excitement and curiosity.

Half-way up the rocky hillside they came upon the Brophys' abode, a
one-storied cabin, with a cabbage garden, a potato plot, and a scanty
patch of wheat climbing up the mountain at the rear.

Dan himself stood in the doorway, eagerly on the lookout for them;
while a querulous voice from within warned them that "herself" had
reached the limit of her patience.

Entering they descried her--a tiny old woman, bent almost double with
age and rheumatism, leaning forward in her elbow-chair with the letter
on her knee.

Maggie was hustled to the front and the packet placed in her hand. She
turned it over and over, and finally broke the seal.

"It's from America," she said.

"Bedad, alanna, I knew that before," returned old Dan, who was bending
over her, his weather-beaten face betraying the utmost mystification.

"Sure all of us knew that," murmured the bystanders.

"Well, give the child time to see what's in it," urged Mrs. Kinsella.
"Father Taylor himself couldn't tell yez what's in a letther before he
had it opened."

"Who's it from, Maggie asthore? Tell us that much," cried Mrs. Brophy
with shrill eagerness.

Maggie drew the letter from the envelope and slowly unfolded it. An
enclosure fell out. Several hands were outstretched to catch it, and
Mrs. Kinsella succeeded.

"What in the name o' goodness is this?" she asked. "There's print on
this. I hope to heaven it's not a summons, or a notice to quit, or
anything that way."

"Not at all, not at all," cried Peggy Murphy, "that's an ordher for
money. I knew the looks of it the minute I set eyes on it--the very
same as wan that Mrs. O'More sent me from Dublin, the price of a pair
o' chickens she sent for, afther she went up. Bedad, you're in luck,
Dan. How much is it for, now, Maggie?"

"Ah! good gracious! don't be axin' the child them things. Sure how