entered was at the top of the little narrow court. There we found a
good-tempered Irish-woman sitting without fire, in her feverish
hovel. "Well, missis," said the visitor, "how is your husband
getting on?" "Ah, well, now, Mr. T----," replied she, "you know,
he's only a delicate little man, an' a tailor; an' he wint to work
on the moor, an' he couldn't stand it. Sure, it was draggin' the
bare life out of him. So, he says to me, one morning, "Catharine,"
says he, "I'll lave off this a little while, till I see will I be
able to get a job o' work at my own trade; an' maybe God will rise
up some thin' to put a dud o' clothes on us all, an' help us to pull
through till the black time is over us." So, I told him to try his
luck, any way; for he was killin' himself entirely on the moor. An'
so he did try; for there's not an idle bone in that same boy's skin.
But, see this, now; there's nothin' in the world to be had to do
just now--an' a dale too many waitin' to do it--so all he got by the
change was losin' his work on the moor. There is himself, an' me,
an' the seven childer. Five o' the childer is under tin year old. We
are all naked; an' the house is bare; an' our health is gone wi' the
want o' mate. Sure it wasn't in the likes o' this we wor livin' when
times was good." Three of the youngest children were playing about
on the floor. "That's a very fine lad," said I, pointing to one of
them. The little fellow blushed, and smiled, and then became very
still and attentive. "Ah, thin," said his mother, "that villain's
the boy for tuckin' up soup! The Lord be about him, an' save him
alive to me,--the crayter ! . . . An' there's little curly there,--
the rogue! Sure he'll take as much soup as any wan o' them. Maybe he
wouldn't laugh to see a big bowl forninst him this day." "It's very
well they have such good spirits," said the visitor. "So it is,"
replies the woman, "so it is, for God knows it's little else they
have to keep them warm thim bad times."