"Well, th' nex' wan was a girl, an' she didn't die; but, th' less
said, th' sooner mended. Thin they was Terrence, a big, bould,
curly-headed lad that cocked his hat at anny man,--or woman f'r th'
matter iv that,--an' that bruk th' back iv a polisman an' swum to th'
crib, an' was champeen iv th' South Side at hand ball. An' he wint.
Thin th' good woman passed away. An' th' twins they growed to be th'
prettiest pair that wint to first communion; an' wan night they was a
light in th' window of Shaughnessy's house till three in th' mornin'.
I rayminiber it; f'r I had quite a crowd iv Willum Joyce's men in, an'
we wondhered at it, an' wint home whin th' lamp in Shaughnessy's
window was blown out.

"They was th' wan girl left,--Theresa, a big, clean-lookin' child that
I see grow up fr'm hello to good avnin'. She thought on'y iv th' ol'
man, an' he leaned on her as if she was a crutch. She was out to meet
him in th' ev'nin'; an' in th' mornin' he, th' simple ol' man, 'd stop
to blow a kiss at her an' wave his dinner-pail, lookin' up an' down
th' r-road to see that no wan was watchin' him.

"I dinnaw what possessed th' young Donahue, fr'm th' Nineteenth. I
niver thought much iv him, a stuck-up, aisy-come la-ad that niver had
annything but a civil wurrud, an' is prisident iv th' sodality. But he
came in, an' married Theresa Shaughnessy las' Thursdah night. Th' ol'
man took on twinty years, but he was as brave as a gin'ral iv th'
army. He cracked jokes an' he made speeches; an' he took th' pipes
fr'm under th' elbow iv Hogan, th' blindman, an' played 'Th' Wind that
shakes th' Barley' till ye'd have wore ye'er leg to a smoke f'r
wantin' to dance. Thin he wint to th' dure with th' two iv thim; an'
says he, 'Well,' he says, 'Jim, be good to her,' he says, an' shook